Relapse
by Answer
Summary: Two years after the night the spell was broken not everyone is living happily ever after. When Gaston tricks the Enchantress into casting another spell, the royal couple's love is tested to its limits and Gaston himself gets more than he bargained for.
1. Restart

He woke up feeling relieved. He always did. It was over. Ten years of asking himself the same unanswerable questions. Ten years of waiting, wishing, hoping, praying to any force that might be out there and then giving up, because no cosmic force for good could let anyone feel the way he did, suffer the way he did. He had deserved it, and yet no one deserved _that_. He had had a chance to end it, but what sort of chance had it been?

And now it was over. Every morning, that was his first thought. It was over.

Then, he would remember why it was over. He would open his eyes and look at her sleeping form, the gentle brown waves of hair that framed her face, the sheets drawn up to her chin, and he would forget to breathe for a moment, because life seemed to come not from the air around him but from her. The world centred on his perfect wife.

After that, life plunged on. He was carried from one thing to a next by a sort of current, an inescapable flow from one end of the day to the other. He was buoyed along by the servants: a team who, it was often remarked by his visiting peers, operated like a well-oiled machine. They swept him along from duty to duty, meeting to meeting, each one blurring into the next, the people he met and spoke to like distant figures on the shores of islands he sailed past. But there, with Belle, that was the home he returned to each night. Even now, with all he had longed for those ten years restored to him, he could not imagine how he could ever have lived without her.

He didn't know what she did, during those days, but she was happy, and the warmth of her love made him feel he could do anything.

* * *

She kept her eyes closed when she awoke, a barrier against the world. With her eyes closed, she could invent a dream of her own, the way she used to make up adventures in her head. She would lie there, keeping her breathing steady as though in sleep, and feel the warmth of him beside her, and dream that their bed was the whole world, a world that was just the two of them enclosed safely in the sheets.

He would always pull her out of the dream, getting up carefully so as not to disturb her. She would open her eyes slowly, blinking, and receive his soft gaze with a gentle smile. Lumière would enter then, gauging the time immaculately as always, and talk him through his appointments for the day as he helped him to dress, and she would sit up in bed and remind herself what a silly dream it was, and how dreadful it would really be to be stuck in a world the size of a bed with only her husband for company.

He would disappear soon after, leaving her with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to see her at dinner, a promise he never broke unless he had to. She would spend the day reading or gardening, an interest she had recently discovered, to the chagrin of the legion of gardeners who had been reluctantly prevailed upon to allot her a small, out-of-the way section of garden where she would not be too much bother to anyone. Sometimes she would ride to visit her father. He had been offered a home in the castle, and visited often, but preferred to remain in his workshop, tinkering with his inventions.

The village had changed a lot in the two years since her marriage. As a princess' former home, it had become something of a tourist attraction and, as a result, local business was booming. It seemed as though every time she visited, something had changed. A shop selling local curiosities would have opened up in someone's front room, or the baker would be walking around with gold rings on his fingers, drawing the attention of passers-by to the sign over his door that declared that his shop had once been purveyor of bread to the princess. Belle refrained from pointing out that he had been the only baker in town until the business explosion, because she was pleased that he was doing well.

She would finish these visits at the town's new library, funded by the prince at her request. Just the sight of it made her flush with pride, and think how lucky she was to be able to effect change like this. Inside, the familiar face of the former bookseller would beam her approach – when she had offered to buy his entire stock for the library, he had offered his services as a librarian and she had been delighted to accept. She would stay a while, talking to him and watching the initially-reluctant townspeople get to grips with the notion of books they could borrow for free. Some of them had learned to read there, clustering in groups around people who already could, soaking up the knowledge.

And then she would go home and dress for dinner.

* * *

It was evening, two weeks after their anniversary.

"What did you do today?" she asked him, her soup spoon poised, peering into his candlelit face across the table.

He swallowed. "Preparations for next week, mostly." Next week was the visit of the crown prince of Illyria – an infertile but gold-rich country to the north – and his retinue to discuss new trading opportunities. If they could be persuaded to pay a good price for wheat and other exports, it would be an immense boost for farming and the royal family's popularity. They weren't unpopular, especially now that things were back to normal after the prince's disappearance, but a little extra popularity had never harmed a monarch or his family.

"Is it all going well?"

"Pretty well." He smiled. "I'm sure Lumière would appreciate your help in selecting a suit in which I can receive them."

She smiled back. "I'll speak to him tomorrow."

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too."

* * *

Gaston's recovery had taken a long time. For months, he had barely seen the light of day, drifting in and out of consciousness, consumed in a cloud of pain. His injuries would have killed any number of lesser men, but if anything, he felt the pain with a greater intensity. Gaston knew what pain looked like on other creatures, and he knew what it felt like to work one's muscles sore to increase one's strength, but he had never really known it himself. He knew it now.

The extent of his injuries, as Lefou had summarised the endless babble of pointlessly long words the doctor had used, was that everything was broken. The doctor had added that it was a miracle that he had survived, but Gaston had snorted at that. He had survived because he was _Gaston_, and no one did anything like Gaston did. Surviving that fall had been just another thing he was the best at, and it had come as no surprise to him when he had finally woken up, alive.

And now he was better. Not as good as he had been, because that was one hell of a standard to live up to and he really hadn't been very well. But better.

He was working on it, his recovery. Every day, from dawn until dusk, he engaged in an intensive programme of exercises that would help him get his strength back. He pushed himself hard, too hard, but he was determined. He was Gaston, he was the best, and he couldn't hang around being weak because of some accident. Someone would come along, get the wrong idea – someone would think there was room for another hero in this town, and there wasn't. There wasn't room in the country, in the _world_ for anyone else like him, because no one like him existed.

It had been while completing his twenty-first lap around the village one morning that he had seen Belle, riding her horse away from that weird building that had appeared, the one that was full of all those books – put together, he assumed, so that they could have a massive bonfire for the Winter Festival and rid themselves of them once and for all. He knew it was her, but at the same time, it wasn't. Maybe it was the dress. She was dressed like a princess or something.

He had asked Lefou about it. He'd made a funny face and looked at his shoes, so Gaston had grabbed him by his collar and hauled him up to eye level before repeating the question. Lefou had turned pink and stopped breathing so he'd put him back down.

"She's married to the prince."

Gaston needed a moment to digest this information. There were two problems here. One,_Belle had married someone else_? It was impossible, wasn't it? He'd never known Lefou to lie to him, not after turning that colour. She had been deluded over that Beast business, of course, but he had always known that she would come to her senses and marry him eventually. He made a mental note to do double the number of push-ups tomorrow, if he could figure out what that was. He was losing his grip on the town. Two... "What prince?" he growled.

Lefou took a deep, wheezing breath, loosened his collar and began.

* * *

_Hello and thank you for reading! This is my first full-length post-transformation fic, and has been partly based on my old one-shot "Object of Revulsion" which is about Gaston surviving the fall from the castle. I'd like to thank HeavensScribe for the review requesting a continuation of that fic. While I didn't really feel like I could go anywhere with OoR, it's definitely inspired me to write this! As with that, I'm going to need you to suspend your disbelief for this, both to accept that he survived and that he has made such a good recovery after two years. The only explanation I can offer for this is that... well, he's Gaston. Other than that, I've got nothing._

_I hope you liked this, and that you stay tuned for the rest! Among other things, expect angst, romance, magic and arguments between Lumière and Cogsworth. See you next chapter! Oh, and all reviews would be very gratefully received._


	2. Reimagine

Several moments of uncomfortable silence followed Lefou's exposition. Lefou used this time to reflect on how great it was that Gaston was feeling so much better while edging subtly out of reach. Gaston was trying to rearrange this new information so that it would fit in a particular hole in his brain. It wouldn't go.

"So this long-lost prince just appears out of nowhere and marries her? I turn my back – break it – for one minute and some prince thinks he can just take her?"

Lefou hazarded a nod. "I guess so."

Gaston fumed. Lefou wondered if he could get away with edging out of the building altogether.

"I asked nicely and she refused." Gaston was pacing now. "What does she want me to do?"

Lefou frowned. "Well... nothing. She's married to the prince now." He gave a weak grin. "Nothing we can do about that, huh, Gaston? Guess we'll have to find someone else—"

Gaston wheeled round to stare his diminutive companion squarely in the face. "_No one_ says no to Gaston." His eyes seemed almost to glow. Briefly, Lefou wondered if this was what hell looked like. "_**No one**_."

Another silence. The tension in the room crackled over Lefou's skin.

"So... what do you want to do?" He really didn't want to ask, but he knew he had no choice.

Gaston looked away, cracking his knuckles. "I don't know yet," he said. "But I'll think of something." He'd invested a lot of time in Belle, time he could have been spending on dozens of other women who knew when to stop playing hard to get. He wasn't about to give up now, prince or no prince.

* * *

Morning. A big, bright, beautiful morning! The path ahead was clear and wide, flecked with dazzling sunlight split into patterns by the overhanging trees, the horse beneath her barely containing its boundless energy even as they flew along at a gallop – just as well, given the urgency with which they travelled. Now and then, Belle's hand moved instinctively for her sword and the feel of the cool, hard metal reassured her. But even with so great a responsibility on her shoulders, even with the fate of the world in her hands, she could not deny the exhilaration she was feeling, the swell of excitement in her chest. She looked sideways to her husband, her partner, her best friend and marvelled at the way his hair flew behind him, at the light dancing in his bright blue eyes. He met her gaze and they shared a smile so filled with happiness that it turned into a laugh. The world changed around them, danger faced them at every turn, but they fought as one, side by side. Nothing in the world could touch them as long as they were together.

"_Bon matin_,_ cherie!"_ It was Lumière, and she was back in the library.

She took a moment to collect her thoughts, then turned around. "Good morning, Lumière."

He scrutinised her face. "Is everything alright?"

She gave a deliberate smile. "Yes, of course!"

"The Master said you would assist me in the selection of his _v__ê__tements_ for next week."

Belle shook her head, gently, still smiling. "He only said that to make me feel involved, Lumière, you know that. You'll do a wonderful job with his clothes, just like you always do."

* * *

"She's not happy," were Lumière's first words as he entered the kitchen.

Mrs Potts and Cogsworth looked up from what they were doing, which was discussing the menus for the Illyrian visit.

"I beg your pardon?" Cogsworth enquired.

Lumière pulled up a chair. "The princess. Belle. She is unhappy."

Cogsworth frowned. "In what way?"

"I don't know. It is something in her eyes." He gave his colleague a sideways glance. "Of course, I am not surprised that an insensitive clod like you has not noticed."

Mrs Potts sighed, intervening before Cogsworth could think of a retort. "You're right. I've tried talking to her, but the poor girl won't let on what it is that's bothering her."

"Perhaps we could have the Master summon the royal dressmaker," Cogsworth suggested. "A new gown might-"

"No, no," Lumière interrupted, exasperated. "I cannot believe that Belle is in distress for want of a dress."

"No, that won't do." Mrs Potts looked around to make sure they were alone, then asked "Do you think it's the Master?"

Lumière leaned in. "What do you mean?"

"Well... do you think everything's alright between them?"

"She knows he loves her," Cogsworth observed. "The curse wouldn't have been lifted if he didn't."

They were silent for a moment as they contemplated this.

"No one is saying he does not love her," Lumière said, eventually. "But it is possible that they have lost a certain..." He looked thoughtfully at his hand. "Spark."

Mrs Potts nodded. "They don't spend much time together. The Master always seems to be so busy."

"With important diplomatic matters that are attached to his status," Cogsworth interjected. "This is a complex time politically and it is imperative that the Master is attentive to his duties. Only two weeks ago, I cleared an entire day at his request-"

"It _was_ their anniversary, dear."

"Yes, but what's that to a foreign king's emissary?"

Lumière rolled his eyes. "What is a foreign king's emissary when compared to the love of the Master and his princess?"

"He couldn't manage without her," said Mrs Potts. "You know that."

"That's true," Cogsworth conceded. "But he doesn't have to. What's she going to do, run off and seek her fortune? She's a princess. She's got everything she could possibly want."

Lumière snorted. "Cogsworth, you have no passion in your soul."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think what Lumière means," Mrs Potts said, quickly, "is that we don't know what Belle wants. Who's to say that being a princess is all she's ever dreamed of?"

Cogsworth huffed. "Oh, now, really, it's not as though I'm talking about some poor peasant girl snatched away from her family and forced to live a life of uncomfortable privilege against her will. Belle chose this."

Mrs Potts shook her head. "No, Belle chose the Master."

"Who was born into the royal family, with all that that entails."

"And who looked like a Beast." Lumière sighed. "She fell in love with the Master. Not his face, and not his crown."

Cogsworth was out of arguments. "Very well. What do you propose we do?"

* * *

Tim had been a fork once. Of course, it was all ancient history now and, like everyone else, he'd learned to adjust to life on two legs. One of his favourite things about not being cutlery any more, apart from not having to enter anyone's mouth, was spending a good, raucous night at the tavern with his friends. That had certainly been the plan for tonight. Except that now his friends had disappeared and the world was starting to look a bit wobbly.

He leaned heavily on the bar, looking around for a familiar face. He didn't find one, but he wasn't too worried. He wasn't too worried about anything just at the moment. Hey, maybe he could make some new friends. He could certainly have another drink.

He was just about to act on this wonderful idea when, as if by magic, one manifested itself in his hand. A drink, not an idea. Beyond it loomed a friendly smile attached to a huge, red stranger. "Hello, friend," said the stranger. "The name's Gaston."

A drink _and_ a new friend? Just by thinking about it? Looked like this was his lucky night! "Tim," he said, getting better acquainted with his new drink.

"Good to meet you Tim." Gaston smiled. "I hear you work up at the castle. Why don't you tell me about it?"

* * *

_Hello again! I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone reading this story – I think that's the most popular first chapter I've ever had!_**  
**


	3. Regal

Belle was angry with herself. It had been coming on gradually throughout the day and now she was sitting in one of her private rooms, ostensibly looking over a selection of gown designs Armoira De La Grande Bouche had prepared for her wardrobe for the new season, but inwardly fuming. If she had felt this way about anyone else, she would have tracked them down and had it out with them, but she could hardly do verbal battle with herself, so all there was to do was to sit on an immense _chaise longue_ and stew.

How could she have been so – she looked for a princessy word for it – _indelicate_? That scene with Lumière – well, alright, she was exaggerating, it wasn't a scene. But she shouldn't have let her feelings show like that. It had been a temporary lapse, a silly, transient feeling. So her every little wish hadn't come true. How spoiled had she become in these two years as a princess? The instant gratification was going to her head. Everyone had fantasies, everyone had some dream that remained unfulfilled. Look at the servants. Was that all they had wanted from their lives? To serve a royal couple? Had Armoira prepared these designs for her because designing dresses for a princess had been her life's ambition? Or did she do it because she loved rich embroidery and layered skirts but had neither the means nor the occasion to wear them herself? She couldn't tell. And what about Lumière, Mrs Potts and Cogsworth? Had they, as children, lain awake at night tracing images of household objects in the stars, dreaming of the day they would help to run someone else's household, and be the undeserving victims of a curse to boot? Unlikely. And what about...

What about all the little girls who dreamed of being princesses? What about the shining faces that had lined the streets for their wedding procession, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of her, to drink in the idea that a peasant girl like her could become a princess if only she were good enough. Well, she had a thing or two she could tell them. Who would want this, knowing what it really was? If they only knew about the long, empty days, the tedium of having everything you wanted at a moment's notice and... oh, she _was_ spoiled! It wasn't fair! She had never wanted this! She wanted adventure! She wanted to see the world, not listen in quietly to meetings about ruling it! She wanted to saddle a fast horse, pack up all the supplies she could carry and ride away into the distance. She wanted to meet people, to discover how little she knew about the world and then remedy it, one dangerous, thrilling, _wonderful_ adventure at a time! And she wanted him to go with her.

And that was the problem. That was why she couldn't have the life she dreamed of and that was why she was furious with herself for still dreaming of it. She loved him, as much as she had when the curse broke and more. She couldn't imagine feeling happiness without him by her side and she knew he felt the same. But he was a prince and she was a selfish, ungrateful princess and there was an end to it.

* * *

He faced the mirror like a man. He stared himself proudly in the eyes, blue and firm, taking in his pale, smooth skin and long, sleek hair. This was who he was. He smiled.

It occurred to him then that, in addition to helping him on with his jacket for dinner, Lumière was speaking to him.

"What was that?"

Lumière cringed. It had been a delicate piece of phrasing and he didn't like to start again. He almost lost his nerve, but the thought of Belle's sad resignation earlier spurred him on.

"I just said that I would like to talk to you about the princess, Master. If that is alright."

He frowned slightly, twisting to admire his outfit. "What about her?"

Neither of them had noticed Cogsworth enter the room, but when he began to speak, Lumière made a mental note not to antagonise him for at least an hour after this conversation was over. He deserved it.

"What Lumière was alluding to, if you will forgive the intrusion, Master –" He eased his way cautiously into the conversation "—Is that, and we hope you will understand that this is said with the deepest of respect-"

The prince's eyes narrowed. "_Yes_, Cogsworth?"

"Well... it's just that... circumstances being what they are and so on..."

"Cogsworth."

"She's... not happy, sire."

The prince turned abruptly to face his head of household. "What do you mean?" He could feel the dangerous tone enter his voice, a certain depth that seemed to reach into the past and find a bit of Beast. He didn't regret the tone, though – it suited the way he felt, sometimes.

Lumière decided to return the favour by interceding. "Ah, Master – what he means is that, although the princess has said nothing herself, some of us suspect that the princess is feeling a little... out of sorts."

Muscles in the prince's body were beginning to tense. "Some of you?"

"_Oui_, Mrs Potts, Cogsworth and myself. We were just saying that perhaps she feels a little lonely, since you are always so busy, and that maybe—"

"Maybe I neglect my wife?"

"Sire—" Cogsworth tried to interject but it was too late. Something inside the prince had been smouldering, and now the fire had become unstoppable.

"Come with me," he growled, and swept out of the room. Cogsworth and Lumière hurried after him, exchanging unmistakeably nervous glances.

As he pounded his way down the corridors and staircases, the prince fumed. How dare they talk about him that way? How dare they come to him and tell him Belle was unhappy? He loved Belle and her happiness meant more to him than anything else ever had or would – certainly more than any of them. And they came to him and told him she was unhappy? As though he wouldn't know? As though he was some heartless— He aimed a kick at a statue as he passed, stubbed his toe and tried to disguise his subsequent limp —_Beast_. Was that what they thought of him? Well, to hell with the lot of them. He had changed – Belle had changed him – and he owed his very life to her. He would _not_ be accused of neglect.

As they neared the heavy double doors that led to the dining room, he stopped in his tracks and span round. Lumière and Cogsworth, who had been close to jogging to keep up, fairly skidded to a halt in front of him.

"If you're wrong," he hissed in harsh tones, "I will have you removed from this castle and only your role in breaking the curse will save you from _exile_, understand?"

They nodded. They knew this was meaningless, a throwback to earlier days, but neither of them had seen this strength of feeling for some time. They had hit a nerve.

Belle was waiting for him in the dining room, resplendent in an emerald gown, reclining in her chair with a book propped up on the table. She straightened as he entered and laid the book aside. She opened her mouth to wish him a good evening, then saw his expression and changed it to "Is everything alright?"

The prince paused, struck by the concern in her eyes. He crossed to her and took her by the hand. She stood up.

"Belle, you... you would tell me if you were unhappy, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she answered immediately, but then she looked down.

He gently lifted her chin. "What is it?"

Belle's gaze drifted to Lumière and Cogsworth, who instantly began falling over one another to make a quick exit. When they had gone, she put her arms around her husband's waist, pressing her face into his chest for a few moments before she spoke again. The prince reflected that, once again, he owed his servants an apology.

Belle looked up at him. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's nothing. Just a silly feeling."

"Hey." He smoothed her hair away from her face. "What feeling?"

She sighed. She couldn't keep secrets from him, she didn't want to. But she didn't want him to think she was unhappy with him when he was the most wonderful, beautiful thing that she had ever known. "It's just that... sometimes I still think about adventure, about seeing the world. And I know it's selfish, and my life here is perfect, a dream, and I know how lucky I am but..." She moved away. "I'm sorry."

He pulled her close again, his thoughts swirling. Was he still keeping her prisoner? Had Belle made his dreams come true at the expense of her own? The thought took hold of him instantly, squeezing at his internal organs. "It's not selfish," he said, quietly. He pulled himself together. "Let's make it happen."

Belle frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'll have Cogsworth clear some time as soon as possible. It'll have to be after Illyria, I'm afraid, but we'll go away, take two of our finest horses and ride in any direction you want. Just you and me."

"Really?" Belle tried to suppress some of her excitement but it radiated from her in waves.

He took his princess by the hand again. "I promise."

* * *

"I've got a plan," said Gaston.

"Oh, great!" said Lefou. What he meant was: "I really wish you hadn't dragged me to this empty tavern extremely early in the morning with a plan that's probably got a lot in common with the one that nearly got you killed and by the way you're looking extra crazy today, did you do something with your hair?" but what Lefou said and what Lefou meant hadn't been within sight of one another for a very long time.

Gaston threw him into a chair and sat down opposite him. "That guy – Tom or whatever his name was – told me everything. Seems that what everyone's been missing here again is _magic_." The scary glint in his eye was back.

"Magic?" Lefou made to respond in disbelief, but something stopped him. Memories of that night began to seep into his consciousness, memories that usually remained hidden. They were being attacked by kitchenware and furniture. Something had wanted them out of that castle, something other than the Beast. "The things were under a spell?"

Gaston snorted. "Never mind the things. I'm talking about the Beast."

"What about him?"

Gaston grinned. Lefou didn't like it.

* * *

_Apologies to everyone whose reviews I haven't replied to – I've been busy and confused! I really do appreciate that so many people are reading and reviewing this fic, I'm just a bit nervous that it won't live up to expectations! Let me know what you think of this chapter._


	4. Rear

It was early in the morning, again.

No, scratch that, Lefou thought, cracking his knuckles and scowling. If Gaston's plans started getting any earlier, they'd be doing them yesterday. Gaston would come round to his house, knock on the door and, when he answered, grab him by the scruff of the neck and say "Lefou! Meet me six hours ago at the tavern, I've got an idea!"

It wouldn't surprise him at all if he managed it, either. He did the unlikely, the unkind, the downright wrong when Gaston told him to. Who was to say he wouldn't do the impossible?

So, it was early in the morning, again, and here they were, ten of the town's finest – and Lefou, as someone had joked – here to take part in Gaston's brilliant plan. None of them knew what it was, but that wasn't putting a dent in anyone's enthusiasm. One would think they'd forgotten what had happened at the castle, but it was more than that. They remembered it very well, just not the way it had actually happened. That was the thing about an ego like Gaston's. Once one got that big, it somehow gained the ability to rewrite history. Lefou found himself looking at them with disdain. He worshipped Gaston more than anyone, of course he did – but this was just silly. He decided to take matters into his own hands. You know, a bit.

"Gaston," he said, approaching him with perhaps a little less reverence than was customary.

Gaston could feel the thrill of the hunt washing over him, so he let it pass. "Yes?"

"I hope you don't mind me asking but... what's the plan?"

Gaston answered him by shouting dramatically to those assembled. "We're going to find an Enchantress!"

Cheering broke out, accompanied by hooting, clapping and stamping. The assembled men were nothing if not enthusiastic.

Lefou waited respectfully for it to die down and then said: "Why?"

Gaston hauled him briskly behind a tree. Lefou reflected briefly that if it weren't for his status as Gaston's right-hand man, he'd probably walk hundreds of extra miles every year due to not being hoisted aloft all the time.

"I _think_ I explained this yesterday."

"Oh, yeah! ... Well, you explained about the Prince really being the Beast." As he was saying it, he realised again just how ridiculous all this was. Still, ridiculous had never stopped Gaston before.

"Because of...?"

"Magic."

"Right. So what will we need to change him _back_?"

"Well, magic, I guess, but-"

"Exactly."

"But... why?"

It was too late. Gaston was striding back to the others. "We strike out east immediately. Stay close together and be ready for my commands." He glanced over his shoulder, briefly. "Lefou, you bring up the rear."

Lefou sighed.

* * *

"There. All is well that ends well, eh, Cogsworth?" Lumière beamed as they made their way through the kitchen. Cooks and underlings scuttled round them trying to look respectful and deliver the evening meal in a timely fashion.

Cogsworth's response consisted initially of nothing but hyperventilation. Eventually, he managed, between wheezing breaths: "All's well that ends well? The Master was seconds away from crucifying us!"

"I think you will find that crucifixion is illegal," Lumière responded, airily.

Cogsworth's eyes bulged. "He's the _prince_, Lumière, for heaven's sake! He could make it legal especially for us!"

"What a treat that would be."

Cogsworth couldn't manage any more words and, instead, made a noise like a small pig being squeezed.

As they reached their chairs by the fire, Lumière gave his best deliberately-infuriating smile. It had never let him down. "Come now, Cogsworth. You are getting this out of proportion. The prince has always behaved like this."

Cogsworth wiped his brow with a clean white handkerchief, sinking gratefully into his seat. "I'd have thought the curse would have taught him a lesson."

"You do not think it has?"

Cogsworth hesitated. "Do you?"

* * *

It was about an hour past dusk when they got there. Lefou had no idea where 'there' was or how Gaston had managed to locate it so easily but... well, he was a good hunter. Maybe that was all there was to it. Maybe even Enchantresses left tracks.

Gaston was a little disappointed with the place. He had expected well... more. If he had magical powers as well as phenomenal physical ones, he'd advertise it a bit. Conjure himself up a nice castle or something. For some reason, the Enchantress appeared to favour a cottage.

"Wait here," he told the others. "I'm going in alone."

He was only slightly disappointed that the saucer-eyed men behind him did not raise any objections. He could handle this. He was Gaston.

He knocked on the door.

There was a moment's silence. Gaston looked back to make sure the others were still there and hadn't run off out of fright or something. They hadn't.

He knocked again.

More silence.

He drew himself up to his full height, took a deep breath and knocked a third time.

The door opened. Draped behind it was the most beautiful sight that had met Gaston's eyes since he had last checked his reflection. It was tall and thin and blonde and it had a huge, white smile.

"Good evening, gorgeous," said the smile. "Do come in, won't you?"

"Right!" said Gaston.

* * *

_Sorry this chapter is so short! The good news is that it's got things rolling so there should be some good, solid plot in the next one!_


	5. Reverse

"I've been expecting you, love," the enchantress was saying. "What can I do for you?"

"I've, uh, got something to tell you," Gaston told the swirl of shimmering blonde hair before him. It was strange... he could tell she was beautiful, really, really beautiful. More beautiful than Belle, even. Well, Belle was only the most beautiful girl in _town_. Maybe he'd had his sights set too low. But anyway, he could tell this woman was beautiful, it was in every movement she made, in the way she seemed almost to glow – and yet, somehow, he couldn't seem to focus on her features. He could tell her face was perfect, but he couldn't quite make it out. He was, though the word did not feature in his vocabulary, dazzled by her.

The vision planted a mug of ale in front of him and swept off into another room. "What is it, darling?" she called back.

"Well, it's about the prince."

"What prince is that?" Gaston didn't notice, but there was something subtly different in her voice.

"The one from my kingdom. You turned him into a Beast." He stopped, suddenly. What if she got the wrong idea? It probably wasn't wise to offend an Enchantress. "Uh... which I think is great, by the way. Too many princes around. We need more Beasts – and hey, what better way to..." He trailed off, it was beginning to dawn on him that magic that could turn the prince into a hideous creature might also be capable of doing him some damage. Was it safe for that kind of power to be in the hands of a woman? It made him uncomfortable, anyway. Who was the authority that gave out magic? Maybe once this was in the bag he'd go and see him and ask him if he'd thought this giving-power-to-women thing through properly. But in the meantime he needed to focus on the... job... at... hand...

The Enchantress had come back into the room, only now she was Belle. Well, not _quite_ Belle. She was Belle in his dreams about life after his wedding day. She was Belle without that sharp look in her eye that he was sure came from too much reading... Belle with a little smile turning darkly-rouged lips, Belle with longer eyelashes, more curves in more of the right places. Something stirred in him and he fought for control.

"Too much?" she asked. "I heard this was your type." She leaned in. "And I figured you deserved a little treat for coming all this way with information for me." She stroked his cheek and smiled. "Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

Gaston took a moment for himself before continuing. It wasn't a surprise, of course, that she couldn't resist him, but a sharper instinct than his animal one was telling him that this level of involvement with an Enchantress could seriously jeopardise the plan, if not the rest of his life. Best to stay focused. "Uh. Yes. It's about the prince."

"You said, darling."

"Yes. Well. He's...um. He's gone back to his old ways."

She withdrew, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"He's gone back to being bad. Shouting at his servants, that kind of thing. Uh... withdrawing hunting rights. Not buying his round at the tavern." Gaston hesitated. These were certainly the worst things he could think of, but they didn't seem to be having the desired effect. He floundered. The Enchantress was a woman. What would she think was bad? And just now she looked a lot like Belle. It gave him an idea. "He won't let Belle read!" he burst out.

Now she looked shocked. "What?"

Gaston picked up the thread and ran with it. "He won't let her read any books! He says it's not right for a woman to read! He says she'll start getting ideas and... thinking." He shuddered. "Awful, right?"

She looked away, folding her arms. "I can't believe it. He seemed to have learned so much."

Gaston shook his head. "I'm just so sad about Belle. I asked her to marry me, you see, we had the wedding all planned out – and then he took her and I guess she felt she had to marry him because he's the prince or a Beast or whatever, and now..." He sighed. "I just feel like she deserves better than that, you know?"

The Enchantress took a few steps away and stood with her back to him. "Well," she murmured, barely loud enough to hear, "I guess it _is_ time for the test."

"What's the test?"

She turned back. "Oh, it's just a little rule we have in the magic community. If you're going to go around reforming people you want to make sure you're doing it right, right?"

"Yeah." Gaston had no idea what she'd just said, but agreeing with her couldn't hurt.

"This is kind of a secret." She narrowed her eyes and gave him a little smile. "But I can trust you, right? I mean, you came all this way out of the goodness of your heart."

"Exactly. What's the test?"

"Well, after a little time has gone past, sometimes we cast the spell again. If the desired change has really taken hold, then it will break straight away. Sometimes we do it when they're sleeping and they never even know. But if it hasn't..."

"He stays a Beast, right?"

"Right."

"So you can't just... turn him back into a Beast? With all the awful stuff I just told you about?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not. I trust you, _of course_, but... well, those are the rules." She wrinkled her nose, then winked. "I'll be right back, honey."

She rolled her eyes as she walked away. _Idiot_, she thought. It was funny, actually, he was like the prince's peasant twin – or the prince as he had been. He'd changed, she knew it for sure. It was just that lately... well, she _had_ been having some doubts. He was _better_, no question, but...

The truth was, she felt guilty. She had twisted fate. Not just to reform the prince, that had all been in accordance with magical guidelines. But getting the girl there... What were the chances of an old man happening upon the castle and then his beautiful, good-natured, patient, understanding daughter showing up to rescue him and making a bargain with the Beast exchanging her freedom for his? Slim to none, right? Their love was real, alright, meddling with that would have undermined the whole thing, but... well, without her involvement, Belle's life would have turned out differently. Which was fine, as long as this version was better, she could sleep easy.

So maybe it would be worth doing the test. What she had told Gaston had been mostly true. The test did exist, but it tended to be applied at random... and it almost never failed to give positive results. Now that she thought about it, she was a little nervous. What if he wasn't reformed? It wouldn't look good for her.

But then she thought about Belle again. Not to mention the expression on Gaston's face when she undermined his horsedung story in five seconds flat. Yes, she would enjoy this. She snatched up the hand mirror from her dresser and walked back out to face him.

"Let me just check he's sleeping," she said.

"Right," Gaston said, slightly disappointed that he wouldn't at least get to see the prince suffer a bit. Having him briefly turned back into a Beast while he slept didn't quite seem worth the journey.

"Show me the prince," she said. The mirror glowed green for a moment, then she examined the image. There he was, alright, sound asleep next to Belle, his nose nuzzling into her pillow. She nodded at Gaston. "Right. Here we go." She focused hard. She'd learned a lot since she'd cursed him the first time – and she ought to have done, in twelve years. Cursing the servants had been – and she was embarrassed to think about it now – an accident. She narrowed her eyes. She wouldn't be making it again. She stared harder and harder at the image of the sleeping prince, aiming a fine beam of concentrated magic at him. _Beast_, she thought. _Beast beast beast beast beast... NOW!_

She released it. There was a moment of sound vacuum and then the power was gone. She glanced up at Gaston, then back at the mirror, and waited.

* * *

Pain ripped his dreams in half.

It seared through him, cauterised every inch of tissue, stretched him, bent him, crushed him, tore through him looking for secret places that the burning hadn't reached and destroying them. Hair ripped through his skin so fast that it seemed to burn and fangs shot from his gums like bolts from a crossbow, embedding themselves in his lips. He howled in muffled, bloody pain and it was then that the final agony hit him: a scream, her scream.

He opened his eyes and there she was, frozen half-upright, tangled in the bedsheets, her face white and shining with sweat.

Slowly, horribly slowly, he lifted a hand in front of his face. It confirmed what he already couldn't deny.

He was awake, and he was a Beast.

* * *

Back in the cottage, the Enchantress sank into a chair, unable to utter anything but garbled versions of ancient arcane swearwords.

Gaston grinned. "I'll see myself out," he said.

* * *

_I'm really pleased with this chapter! I hope you liked it!_


	6. React

Belle found she wasn't breathing and quickly forced herself to start. Self-induced asphyxia wasn't going to help the situation, and neither was thinking words like "asphyxia". She was panicking. What was happening? Why was it happening? A few moments of frenzied thinking failed to produce answers so she concluded that she must be dreaming, _please let it be dreaming, _but she'd never had a dream this detailed, this real. She should have screamed herself awake by now but here she still was, gasping and shaking.

And there he was. She'd forgotten, in these two years. She'd forgotten the Beast. She hadn't noticed it happening because it had come on gradually, but time had softened the image. He hadn't been so big as all that, she'd started to think to herself. His teeth hadn't really been what you'd call fangs, his claws weren't _that_ sharp. He'd just been... you know, furrier than average. But now he was there, so close, sitting bolt upright beside her, starting to shake.

And he was still her husband, still her prince, and something awful had happened to him.

"You're... you're bleeding," were her first words. She lifted up a corner of the sheet to wipe away the blood around his mouth, see how bad it was. She moved gently towards him, concern suppressing her own panic. It was as though her mind wouldn't let her think about what had happened, as though the shock had numbed her. All she saw in that moment were his eyes, his bright blue eyes... and the blood. All she wanted to do was stop the blood.

To her surprise, he flinched. "Don't," he said.

She withdrew her hand. "But you're hurt." She moved in again. "Just let me—"

He moved backwards to escape her, slipping awkwardly off the bed and upsetting the bedside table. Belle flinched at the crash.

"I don't want you to touch me," he said.

Belle stared at him for what seemed like forever. He couldn't meet her gaze.

Then, her voice suddenly thick with tears, she asked, "What happened?"

He glanced briefly at her face then, and it was that that finally did it for him. His beautiful wife, her face scrunched and red with tears, her body tensed in horror. He started for the door but someone knocked on it so he turned instead for the full-length windows that opened on to the balcony. A single blow from one of his horrible, mutated fists threw them open. He swung himself over the balcony and, without a moment's hesitation, he began to climb. He couldn't be near her.

Belle leapt out of bed and ran across the room but he was out of sight before she reached the balcony. Behind her, the door opened and Cosgworth, Lumière and Mrs Potts burst into the room.

"Forgive the intrusion, your majesties, but..." Cogsworth stopped, noting the overturned table and broken glass. They hurried over to Belle.

Lumière was the first to see Belle's face. "_Cherie_, what is it?"

Mrs Potts put her arms around her. "What's happened, dear?"

It was a few moments before Belle gained enough self control to make herself understood. "H-he's ch-changed back," she sobbed into Mrs Potts' shoulder. "I don't know how, but... but..."

The servants exchanged horrified glances. "What do you mean," Cogsworth asked, "changed back?"

Belle took a few gulps of air. "I don't know. I woke up and he... he was a Beast again."

"How is that possible?" Lumière demanded of no one in particular.

"Where is he now, dear?" Mrs Potts asked, gently.

Belle gestured. "Up there somewhere. He had blood on his face and I tried to wipe it off and he told me not to touch him and..." She started to cry again.

"Come back inside." Mrs Potts took her hand and started to lead her back towards the bed. "He'll be alright." She sat down on the edge of the bed, gesturing for Belle to join her.

Belle sat down. "I just don't understand why this... and he wouldn't let me touch him... all I wanted to do was to make sure he was alright..." She could feel her hands shaking.

Mrs Potts put an arm around her. "You didn't do anything wrong, love. Don't worry."

Lumière tapped Cogsworth on the arm. "I think we should step into the corridor for a moment."

Cogsworth nodded and the two of them left the room as respectfully as they could. They walked in silence as far as the staircase, where Cogsworth judged that they were out of hearing distance. He turned to his companion. He had intended to phrase the thing neatly, but in the end all the came out was a frenzied "What are we going to do?"

Lumière shrugged. "I do not see what we can do. Find the Master, I suppose." He sighed. "I do not see how this can be. The curse was broken. They love each other."

"Could he have been cursed again?"

"Without telling him how to break it?" Lumière shook his head. "If it was that Enchantress again, then she is evil. He does not deserve this."

"No one deserves th- Master?"

They had reached the foot of the stairs now and, crossing the entrance hall, Cogsworth's eye had been caught by the open ballroom door. Beyond it, silhouetted by the moonlight, was the Beast.

Cogsworth and Lumière broke into a run as they approached him. He looked at them briefly and they both recognised a sorrow in him that they had hoped never to see again.

"Master! Are you alright?" Lumière laid a cautious hand on his furry shoulder.

"Does it look like I'm alright?" There was no anger in the response. Lumière wished there had been.

"Master, I'm so sorry," said Cogsworth. "We'll sort this out. We'll do whatever it takes to get rid of the curse again."

The Beast shook his head, slowly. "There won't be any way out."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a punishment," he replied heavily. "I'm the only one who's been cursed. It's because I don't deserve her."

* * *

_Just a short one this time but I hope you like it!_


	7. Rethink

The Enchantress now had so many books, charts and magical artefacts spread across every horizontal surface in the cottage that she had been forced to conjure up an additional room. Her usually magically-coiffured hair was tousled and the quill she gripped in a slightly sweating hand was dripping black ink onto unfathomably valuable magic tomes. Every now and then she swore violently and made something explode.

Thus far she had managed to rule out the position of the stars, the Prince-Beast's birth sign and the alignment of the planets as explanations for what had happened. She had read every passage on transformations and reformative use of magic in every book that alluded to the subject. She had used the magic mirror to send a message to every magical contact she had – framing it as a theoretical enquiry, of course. She had been searching desperately all night but the only conclusion was that she had failed. The prince hadn't changed.

But he had! She summoned up images of him in the mirror, from that Christmas when she had cast the spell on him until his wedding day. Anyone could see it in his eyes. He loved Belle. And Belle loved him. That was why the spell had broken. And they still loved one another, she was sure of that as well. She had measured it every way the magical community had ever thought of, short of cutting out both their hearts to see whether they fit together, as proposed by a rather unpleasant fourth-century warlock who didn't get invited to many parties. She had felt fairly safe in giving that method a miss.

But why, _why_ had he failed the test?

She slumped on the desk, her head in her hands. This was ridiculous. She wasn't going to let this problem beat her. She wasn't going to be humiliated. She _knew_ she'd done well, that the prince was a far, far better man than he would ever have been if she hadn't intervened.

_Go back to the beginning_, the last Enchantress, her mentor, had told her. _Go back to the beginning and look around._

She stood up, seizing the mirror again. She set it down carefully on the table in front of her and climbed on to the chair. Concentration was required here if she was going to avoid smashing up a rare and expensive piece of equipment. She closed her eyes, muttering under her breath. When she felt ready, she jumped onto the table.

She fell straight through the mirror.

When the world settled down, she was outside the castle. It was a winter's night, cold and dark. She looked around and spotted herself disappearing around the round, jutting wall of the ballroom. She took a moment to prepare, then strode off after herself.

"It's twelve years ago," she said, aloud, invisible and inaudible to her former self. "I'm doing a final check, just making sure that this prince really is who I think he is. That he deserves what I'm going to do to him."

She joined herself at the window, watching the prince reject his Christmas gifts.

"Spoiled and selfish," muttered her other self.

She sighed. "I've really got to get over this habit of talking to myself." And then it struck her. That was it. Oh, goddesses, that was _it_! She watched, her hand over her mouth, as her former self ducked away from the window and underwent the awkward and frankly uncomfortable transformation into a hideous old crone.

Spoiled and selfish.

It all took place exactly as she remembered it. Twice, he refused to let her in. Two chances.

"Go away, you wretched old hag."

She remembered that that had stung. After all, it was still her body, even if she knew it was under a spell.

A showy transformation, this next one. It wasn't necessary to levitate and glow while changing back into one's ordinary form, but that had been her style at the time. She'd worked something similar into the curse she'd put on the prince. The follies of a young Enchantress. Maybe if she'd been paying less attention to stunts like that and more to the spell she wouldn't have cursed the servants too. It was a sobering thought.

"_You have been deceived by your own cold heart_." The echoing voice as well? Oh dear. Never again. "_You are cruel and you are selfish. Until you have learned what it is to truly love another person, and to earn their love in return you shall remain in shape what you are inside... a __**Beast**_."

She had to look away as the transformation took place. It was horrible, even knowing that he deserved it. She wasn't sure she could do any of this again.

She knew what the problem was now. That wording – the whole damn spell, in fact – was wrong. Badly wrong. She had cast the spell so that the prince would see the error of his ways, so that he would learn to treat others with respect, regardless of their appearance or station or anything else. She had wanted to make him a better person. So why, _why_ hadn't she composed the spell around that?

What she had meant was "learn to be a better person and you'll be free". But what she had _said_ was "find love and you'll be free". That was what was wrong. When he and Belle fell in love, the conditions of the spell had been met and the spell was broken. But the test was designed to ensure that the _spirit_ of the spell had been met, that the desired change had taken place. And it hadn't.

"You damn romantic _fool_ ," she hissed at the other her, the one now blasting the rose into existence and explaining its function to the cowering Beast. "It's not the same thing at all!"

How blind she had been, to think that falling in love would utterly change his nature, as though one segued instantly from arrogance to selflessness on exposure to the curative qualities of True Love.

The prince did love Belle. Belle loved him. But she loved him in spite of his faults, the faults that were still there.

Spoiled and selfish.

The Enchantress snapped her fingers and the past melted away and she was back in the infuriating present. Somehow, she didn't feel any better for having solved the problem.

* * *

_It's explanation time! Hope that made some sort of sense.  
_


	8. Revisit

He watched the sun rise from the balcony outside the ballroom. He wondered, as he could remember wondering before, how the outside world could continue as normal when his own had stopped completely.

Was this it, now? At least before he had known why the Enchantress had done this to him, why she had felt justified in destroying his life and what he had to do to earn his freedom again. But now... nothing. He had done all she had asked of him, he had learned that there were things more important than himself, that there was someone worthy of his respect. Belle was his world now and he would have spent every second with her if he could. When he'd been transformed back into a human, his first thought had been for her, of how they could be together now, of how they could be together without feeling ashamed of how he looked.

He felt her approach behind him and slip her little hand into his paw, caressing his skin through the fur, then squeezing it tight. They stood like that in silence for a while, watching birds take off from the trees and arc through the pink-tinged sky.

"I'm sorry," he said, still staring into the distance.

"I know," she replied, quietly.

They could have asked each other what had happened, and why, and what could be done about it, but they didn't need to. They knew neither of them knew any more than the other, and so they just stood together, hand in hand, unaskable and unanswerable questions circling them like invisible butterflies. Eventually conversations would have to be had, decisions would need to be made but now, right now, this was all they could do.

Cogsworth skidded to a squeaky halt on the dance floor behind them and gasped for breath. "Your Royal Highnesses!"

Belle turned. The Beast didn't.

"What is it, Cogsworth?" Belle was puzzled by his urgency. What could possibly need their immediate attention that was worse than this?

Cogsworth straightened up and tried to compose himself but couldn't quite manage it. "You've got a visitor."

"Who is it?"

"I... I think you'd better come and see."

Belle hesitated, but it wasn't like Cogsworth to disturb them like this without good reason. She gathered her skirts and hurried to join him. They left the room together, the Beast following reluctantly a few paces behind.

There was a slight, blonde woman standing in the hall, dwarfed - as almost anyone would be - by the huge door. Belle started to approach her, opening her mouth to offer a greeting, but was abruptly cut off by a roar from behind her.

"YOU!"

Belle almost lost her balance as she whipped round in time to see her husband launch himself from the doorway to the ballroom, reaching the strange woman in a few bounds.

"HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACE HERE?" he bellowed. Given his proximity to the woman's aforementioned face, the volume was somewhat unnecessary.

The Enchantress winced. She hadn't exactly been expecting to be shown in and offered a nice cup of tea and a comfy armchair, but she hadn't quite prepared herself for this. She took a few steps back. "Er... Good morning," she said.

"I'll give you a good morning," he snarled, pacing after her on all fours.

She moved back again. "I'd really rather you didn't."

Belle appeared at his side, laying a soothing hand on the side of his neck. "Don't hurt her," she said, gently. Her gaze hardened as she turned it on the stranger. "You must be the Enchantress."

The Enchantress gave a cautious nod. "And you're Belle." It wasn't a question, it didn't need to be. She'd watched their love story in her mirror, she knew more about Belle than Belle herself did.

Belle inclined her head. "You'll forgive me if I don't say it's a pleasure." She could feel her husband's pulse racing, the anger flooding through him. "Why have you done this to him? Again?"

The Enchantress took a deep breath. "Do you mind if I come in? There's something I need to talk to you about."

* * *

Back at the tavern, the headquarters of what had turned out to be a hugely successful operation, Gaston's celebrations had continued throughout the night. The drinks had been on him. And why not? He'd be a married man soon. Perhaps not immediately, but it couldn't be long now. No one would expect Belle to honour her marriage vows to a man who was now a hideous Beast. Their marriage would be an... annu... annul... ended, and she'd come running back to the village. There'd be no more playing hard to get after that. She'd no longer be pure, no longer be perfect - who else would have her? But Gaston was past caring about that. This wasn't about whether or not she was the most beautiful, the best. She had said no to him, to him, Gaston.

No one said no to Gaston. And he would stop at nothing to prove it.

All there was to do now was to sit back... and wait.

* * *

Cringeing away from the furious stare of the Beast, the Enchantress found she was getting even less fond of her former self by the minute. She'd had to make him ugly, but had it really been necessary to make him so huge and scary? Fangs and claws? Did he really need to have both? Her respect for Belle had risen infinitely. It frightened her to admit it to herself - if she had any more scope for fear - but she wasn't sure she could have said, hand on heart, that she could have done what Belle had done. She wasn't sure she could have fallen in love with someone who looked like that.

But then falling in love wasn't a question of ability.

Belle frowned at her. "So... the curse was wrong?"

"Basically," the Enchantress replied, struggling to meet those brown eyes, "Yes."

"And when we fell in love that broke the spell but it's not enough to break the new spell?"

"It's not a new spell, it was a test of the old one" she corrected her, then, wavering, "But essentially that's true, yes."

Belle shook her head. "I don't understand. You said yourself that you cursed him because he was spoiled and selfish and unkind and that he had to learn to treat others with respect and he has. He's so kind to me, so thoughtful, he's the best husband anyone could possibly be - how could any of that be true if he hadn't changed?"

The Beast interjected in a growl through gritted teeth. "I've done everything you told me to."

The Enchantress hesitated. This was a tricky bit - as if the conversation had been plain sailing up until now. "He's kind and thoughtful to you, Belle. He loves you like he always loved himself. But that isn't the change the spell was meant to make. I'm sorry."

Belle ignored the apology. "What do we have to do?"

The Enchantress held her palm out flat in front of her. Sparks began to circle above it. "It's been a little over twelve years since I cast the spell first."

Cogsworth, standing respectfully in the corner, couldn't resist joining in at this juncture. "Twelve years, two months, two days, an hour and twelve minutes fifteen seconds," he said. The Enchantress turned to look at him and he glared at her. "But who's counting?"

The Enchantress could feel her cheeks burning, but the quicker she got through this, the quicker she could leave. "Without reinforcement, magic of this nature lasts for thirteen years unless an earlier deadline is set, like the ten years I gave you for the first spell." More glares. "Ten is more usual for spells involving love," she added, quickly, but it was a thin explanation and she knew it. "Thirteen is a natural lifespan for magic, a kind of rule of thumb. After that, there won't be anything anyone can do about it."

"So we have until the thirteenth anniversary of the spell being cast? That means..."

"This Christmas," muttered the Beast.

"That's right. By then, you need to understand what it is to have respect for those around you, to care about the happiness of people besides you and Belle."

"I run a kingdom!" the Beast exclaimed. "I make decisions that affect everyone in it, and I do my best to make the right decisions."

"Yes, and you do that because it is your duty, and because bad decisions will damage your popularity and could ultimately cause you to lose everything. It's as much about why you do things as what you do."

Belle sighed. "This is ridiculous."

There was nothing the Enchantress could add to that. She glanced at her own outstretched hand. The sparks had been multiplying while she had been speaking and had now solidified to form a glass ball mounted on a golden base. Inside, a tiny replica of the castle nestled among miniscule trees. She held it out to them. "Take this. When the snow starts to fall, you have a week left."

The Beast snatched it from her, regarding it with sullen disinterest. "We do own a calendar, you know."

"It's a magic thing. I'm sorry."

Belle took it from him. "We'll look after it. Is there anything else?"

The Enchantress contemplated apologising again, but decided against it. The best thing to do seemed to be to leave them in peace. "No, that's it. I'll be on my way now. I'll keep an eye on things and help in any way I can." She stood. "I'll see myself out. Good luck."

And then she was gone.

Belle cradled the strange glass ball in her hands for a moment, then looked up at her husband. "It'll be alright," she said. "We broke the curse before and we can do it again."

He looked into her worried, hopeful face and wished he could believe her.

* * *

_I'm so sorry about the delay! And I'd like to thank everyone who encouraged me to continue this, especially Trudi, whose message I only got last night. As I said to her, I've found it difficult to get on with writing this story for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it's not what I find easiest to write, i.e. fluff with an abundance of wisecracks (although I hope to squeeze some of that in somewhere), so it's more of an effort. But also, looking over it after all these months (again, I'm really sorry!), I've realised that it could well be my best work so far, at least in terms of how well it's written, and the response from all my lovely reviewers has been great, so it's kind of daunting trying to write a new chapter because I'm afraid that I can't keep up the good work!_

_Having said that, I really want to see what I can do with this idea and what new stuff I can find in the story and characters by writing this, so I guess all I can do is try my best and hope you guys continue to enjoy it. Thanks so much for reading!_


	9. Regroup

Judging that his proper place was currently anywhere other than intruding on the private – could you call it grief? He didn't see why not – of the prince and princess, Cogsworth made his way silently out into the corridor and eased the door shut with a barely-audible click.

So that was that. Another curse. Another deadline. His heart had sunk so low that he could almost feel it trying to claw its way out of his feet. He couldn't possibly begin to imagine how the Master must be feeling. And Belle, too. Did either of them have it in them to do it all again? He couldn't have sworn, hand on heart, that he did.

And that was where the creeping sense of guilt began to set in – guilt at the immense relief he found he was feeling that the spell hadn't taken anyone but the Master this time. He should have been feeling nothing but sympathy and sadness at a time like this. He had known the Master since the infant prince had spent his days screaming from his cradle, and he had grown to look on Belle as a cherished friend as well as a princess who was to be respected for consistently exceeding the high expectations of those around her. What had happened to them last night was terrible, horrible, unthinkable.

But thank goodness it hadn't happened to him.

Smothering the feeling, Cogsworth set off for the kitchen by way of the servants' passages, periodically calling out as he went "All members of staff are to finish what they're doing and convene in the ballroom in half an hour. Staff meeting in the ballroom in half an hour. Spread the word!" Unusually, Cogsworth was not looking forward to this meeting. Even organising the legion of maids, butlers and so on who made up the castle's staff wouldn't soothe his jangled nerves today. Still, someone had to tell them what was going on, before the rumours got out of control. A familiar face appeared in a doorway. "Ah, Lumière. I think we need to talk in private." And, without further warning, he steered his old friend and antagonist into a linen cupboard. Given the amount of linen handled in the castle on a daily basis, it was actually rather a spacious room, but a linen cupboard nonetheless.

Lumière raised his eyebrows. "Why, Cogsworth, I had no idea you felt this way about me."

Cogsworth frowned. "Lumière, this is neither the time or the place."

"It may not be the time," Lumière smirked, "but this is certainly the place. Only last week, Babette and I-"

"That's quite enough of that," Cogsworth snapped. Then, reasoning that he might as well dispense with the pleasantries, "The Enchantress was here."

Lumière's levity drained away like it had been sucked out by a leech. "What?_"_

Cogsworth shook his head slightly. "Out of the blue, but then I suppose that's their modus operandi. You'd think they'd have something better to do with all that power than turn up on people's doorsteps and ruin their lives..." He trailed off for a moment. Actually, until the previous night it had been grudgingly accepted that the prince's life had probably ended up in a far more satisfactory state than it would otherwise have been. Had things remained on the course they had looked set to follow twelve years ago, the young prince would have remained unbearable and friendless and would probably have been married off to a foreign princess by now with no guarantee they'd even speak the same language. The servants had all suffered immeasurably, of course, particularly those with family members who weren't also employed at the castle, but apparently that had been a mistake. So that was alright then.

"What happened?" Lumière demanded, impatient.

"Well, there was a knock at the door, so I answered it and there she was. I didn't know what to do at first but then I thought I'd better fetch the Master so..." He continued in this vein for some time. Eventually, Lumière was able to elicit the salient points from him.

"So the Master has another spell to break?"

Cogsworth sighed. "Well, apparently it's the same spell, because the Enchantress didn't do it properly the first time. It's disgusting, the incompetence you see in people with power these days..."

"Cogsworth..."

"What?"

Lumière smirked again. "I think you will find that, as the prince's most trusted advisors, _we_ are people with power."

"Oh. Well, you know what I meant. Anyway, the point is – what are we going to do?"

Lumière scratched his chin, thoughtfully. "Well, we will help in any way we can, of course. You say he has to learn about being kind to others, that sort of thing?"

"Yes, but that's not what I meant." Cogsworth adjusted his wig in a nervous fashion. "As you say, we'll help in any way we can but... what about the kingdom? It's not like before, the prince was only a child then and had no responsibilities to speak of, it was easy to make him disappear." Well, for a given value of easy. There had been a rather tense few weeks while LePlume, the scribe-turned-quill had tried to learn how to write with what he was used to thinking of as his feet. After that, though, Cogsworth had managed to just about salvage the situation by dictating an awful lot of letters. That wasn't going to work this time.

"Oh, I see what you mean." Realisation began to dawn. "The crown prince of Illyria visits next week!"

"Exactly. That and the multitude of other diplomatic business I have to guide His Royal Highness through every day, and something tells me that even if he was willing to be seen like that, it wouldn't be good for the kingdom's image."

"Could we not just say that he is sick?"

Cogsworth helped himself to a clean handkerchief off one of the shelves and wiped his brow. "I suppose that might work for some of the domestic matters he has to deal with – meetings with local leaders, peasants with grievances and so on. I could consult the prince and then speak to them on his behalf. But this meeting with Illyria has been arranged for months. They first approached us asking for a meeting before the spell had been broken, so of course I told them then that the prince was indisposed, but then they asked to come during the royal wedding celebrations, so I had to refuse them again, then this trade dispute broke out over there so their prince was tied up for a long time, and now they really need to speak to His Royal Highness for the sake of their country's stability and our continued friendship. Things might be a bit unstable over there but they're settling down and Illyria's military power is something to be reckoned with-"

"Slow down, Cogsworth!" interjected Lumière, not before time. "We are not going to end up at war with Illryia."

"You're sure of that, are you?" Cogsworth knew he was becoming hysterical, but he couldn't see any alternative course of action.

"No," Lumière admitted. "But there are other things we can try first. For instance – has anyone from Illyria ever seen the prince?"

Cogsworth considered this for a moment. "No," he concluded. "And his official portrait hasn't been finished yet. He was due to sit for that again tomorrow." He paused. "I suppose I'd better cancel that."

"You think?"

"Lumière, if you have nothing to offer but impertinence..."

Lumière lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "Relax, Cogsworth. I have an idea. What if someone else were to pretend to be the prince? He could speak to the Illyrians in his place and none of them would suspect a thing."

A tiny ray of hope flickered in Cogsworth's mind. "I suppose... I suppose if this person knew what he was doing, and was given thorough instruction, and could keep the Illyrians entertained..."

Lumière grinned. "Exactly. You could do it!"

Cogsworth glared at him. "Lumière, really. I am easily thirty years the prince's senior and I think we'll have some trouble explaining my strong English accent. Besides, I shall be busy covering for the prince's other duties." He looked his friend up and down. "Why don't you do it?"

Lumière laughed, a little nervously. "Oh, now, Cogsworth, really, I do not think-"

"Well, I don't see why not. You're charming, debonair – a perfect host, in fact. And, as far as I can make out, you fill your hours around the castle with very little other than romantic interludes with Babette. You're perfect for the job."

"Cogsworth, I-"

"We'll have to do something to hide those grey hairs, of course, but with a bit of luck no one will notice the odd wrinkle here and there. We'll tell you exactly what to do and what to say – you'll be fine!"

Lumière opened his mouth to resume his protestations, but realised he'd backed himself into a corner. He was the victim of his own brilliance. And perhaps it wouldn't be that bad, pretending to be royalty. He could think of one or two advantages. "Very well," he said. "I will do it."

"Good," said Cogsworth, opening the door. "Now, go and tell everyone about this meeting in the kitchen. I'll see you there."

He was halfway down the corridor before he realised what he'd done. Lumière pretending to be the prince in front of foreign dignitaries? And that was their best option? And it was really too early for a stiff drink?

Oh dear.

* * *

There was a knock at the Enchantress's door, which struck her as slightly unusual because she'd made the house completely invisible. She needed a bit of peace and quiet after the rough morning she'd been having. She considered just ignoring it. It seemed like such a lot of effort to get up from where she was lying. And she'd have to change. She favoured a feline form for relaxing – nothing like curling up with your chin on your paws after a long, hard day. She licked herself, thoughtfully.

More knocking, more insistent this time. She sat up and mewed irritably, then closed her eyes and focused. When she opened them, she was back to her usual self.

"Alright, I'm coming!" she shouted, pulling on her discarded dress. She tugged the door open like it had personally offended her. "Yes?"

The man standing there was tall, with a muscular frame and was that – yes, that was a long, shiny black cloak. He was handsome in a technical sort of way; that is, his features were all individually perfect, but their combined effect was one of unnerving artifice that could not actually be described as attractive. He gave her a broad smile that somehow failed to convey any warmth at all. "Hello," he said.

She frowned. "Can I help you?"

Another unpleasant smile. "I doubt it. You don't recognise me, do you?"

The Enchantress was about to concede the truth of this statement, when it struck her. "You're not... Kestrel?"

"Incorrect," he said. "I am Kestrel."

"Goodbye, Kestrel," she said, and shut the door. Or tried to. His foot was in the way.

"You needn't worry," he said. "This isn't a social call. I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop by to let you know that I'm not going to let our past compromise my professional duty."

She didn't know what he was talking about, but she wasn't particularly interested. "Glad to hear it," she said. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm very busy..."

"You haven't heard, have you?" Kestrel didn't wait for a reply. "I was elected to the Council of Magical Practitioners last year. I help decide what should be done about improper or careless use of magic. We're discussing a very interesting case at the moment. Very sloppy spell. Seems some small-time Enchantress cast a spell twelve years ago that just failed the test. But, like I said, I'll be judging the case solely on its merits, without any reference to things that might have happened. I hope that reassures you."

The Enchantress set her face firmly to expressionless. "Enormously. Thank you for letting me know."

"My pleasure." He bowed his head slightly, the horrible smile never fading. "Until we meet again."

She waited until she was sure he had gone, then caused an entire flowerbed to spontaneously combust. Kestrel Lowroad. The only person she knew with the unfailing ability to make a good day bad and a bad day worse.

* * *

_Please keep the reviews coming! This looks like it might be shaping up to be quite a long fic (for me) so I really want to know what you like and what you don't!_


	10. Reflect

He couldn't do it again.

He just couldn't. He couldn't live like this, huge, ungainly, dangerous. He couldn't glimpse this twisted shape in every reflective surface, couldn't carry with him the shame of being something so hideous, couldn't be surrounded by people but all alone, a dark shape in the background of their existence.

But if he couldn't live with it... then what? What was the alternative?

He knew the answer to that. It was a place he had been more times than he cared to admit, even to himself. He wasn't there yet, but it loomed over him. The darkness of it pressed at the edges of his conscious thought.

It was worse, somehow, this time. Was that possible? Perhaps the truth was that time had dulled the memory of the pain. How could it be worse? He had Belle.

But that was it. He had more to lose.

He couldn't drag her into this hell with him. Even if he'd wanted to – and he didn't, oh how he didn't, he would shield her from any pain no matter what the cost – she could never truly understand what it was to feel like this, to be like this. Her kindness, her compassion had saved his life, but she was only human.

_Only_ human?

He remembered feeling her there beside him on the loveseat in the room where they'd received the Enchantress. They hadn't moved for some time, and the familiar curves of her body were still pressed against him. He felt a rush of warmth, the same that always filled him when he contemplated his wife, but this time it seemed to choke him. How could he hold her, now? How could he pull her to him, feel the warm softness of her skin as her cheek brushed his, whisper that he loved her? She had fallen in love with him as a Beast, but their life together had been built with him as a prince. How quickly he had come to take her for granted.

He waited for her in their bedroom, crouching awkwardly in the corner, staring at the four-poster bed. With its flowing white curtains, it had often been their own little room within the stifling grandeur of the bedroom, a place of seclusion where, for a few blissful hours at a time, they had been alone. Those memories stung him now, soured by his monstrous form.

She entered quietly, a stack of books under one arm. She looked tired. Her hair had begun to escape its glossy knot and trickle down her back. She didn't see him immediately, busying herself with arranging the books on the nightstand, easing her way out of her complicated gown and into a white silk nightdress.

"Belle," he said, as softly as he could.

She turned. "There you are! I was worr... I was wondering where you were." She sat down on the edge of the bed and he saw that she was holding the glass ball. "What should we do with this?"

Their eyes met for a moment and each knew the other was remembering the dark, dusty wreckage of the West Wing. There had been talk, these last few years, of cleaning it up, restoring it to its former glory as the royal suite and their moving into it, but there just hadn't been the time. He glanced at the ball, then looked away. "I don't know. Just put it somewhere."

She hesitated, then leaned over and opened a drawer in the nightstand, slipping it in among the handkerchiefs and other anonymous items that nestled there. "I'll find somewhere for it tomorrow." She sat up, looking down at her husband. Love and sympathy and memories washed over the shores of her mind. She hadn't seen him like this in a long time. Not just the physical shape – the hopelessness. She got up and walked over to him, running a hand through his soft mane. "I can't believe she's done this to you again."

He'd forgotten, until then, his words to Lumière and Cogsworth in the ballroom. "It's what I deserve," he said. He'd said he didn't deserve her. It had been said in a moment of despair, when things had seemed somehow even blacker than they did now, but perhaps it was true. Belle was good and kind and wonderful, the best person he'd ever known. If he was still the selfish, cruel person he'd been the night the spell was cast, then he wasn't good enough for her.

He heard her draw a sharp breath. "Deserve it? How can you say that? It's a horrible mistake—"

He looked at her. Her skin glowed golden in the candlelight, her tousled hair illuminated like a halo around her head. Her perfection made him ache. "You heard what she said. It's because I haven't changed enough."

"That is absolutely the most-" There was a strangled silence as she wrestled with herself. She was a princess now. "That's... not true," she concluded, limply.

"It must be, or this wouldn't have happened." A certain dark clarity had struck him now. A grim satisfaction began to settle in his mind. It all made sense now. Why this had happened, why Belle wasn't happy... She loved him in spite of his faults, but that didn't make it right that they were together like this. She deserved someone as flawless as she was. And perhaps the Enchantress, or her magic, knew that.

"Are you ready to go to sleep?" she asked him, gently.

He stood up fully, towering over her. The bed seemed a long way away, an island in the ocean that stretched between them. He followed her to it hesitantly, tried to lie beside her. She began to sink into sleep almost immediately and he would have given anything to go with her. But the bed was too small, his wife as fragile as a doll beside him. Eventually, gnawed by defeat, he eased his way off the bed and curled up beside it.

"I love you," she whispered.

He stared into the darkness. The room was unfamiliar from down here. Without his usual reference points, the darkness seemed to stretch on forever. He closed his eyes and whispered back. "I love you too."

* * *

_-Cough- dramabeast –cough-_

_Just a short one this time. I hope you don't mind, but for some reason I wanted this bit to stand alone._


	11. Read

They went downstairs to the library together the next morning. The Beast arranged a table and chairs at the window and perched there awkwardly, watching Belle's progress around what still felt like unfamiliar territory. Now and then she would seize a volume with an almost catlike pounce, sample a couple of pages and then either return it to the shelf or give it to one of the maids who were trailing after her with, he couldn't help observing, frequent nervous glances in his direction. For all he knew, they'd looked at him like that for the last two years – he could, after all, have them sacked or even executed on a whim – but he'd never noticed it before.

Belle came over to him eventually, flanked by the maids. "Here we are," she said, taking a pile of books off each maid as she spoke. They scurried gratefully away. "This is a book on etiquette from sixty years ago, but the Enchantress strikes me as someone with old-fashioned values." She took a moment here to indicate, in a surprisingly vivid facial expression, exactly what she thought of the Enchantress's values. "These," she continued, "are philosophical works on morality, which should give us some insight into right and wrong. These are all the books we seem to have on magic." She held up a forlorn collection of pages. "This one's been violently torn in half."

His tail flicked involuntarily. "Cogsworth brought it to me in the West Wing a couple of years before you came. He'd marked a couple of passages he thought I might find useful." He swallowed. "I, uh, didn't."

Belle nodded and lowered the book again. She didn't need to pursue it any further. The destruction of a book pained her a little, but she understood. There were parts of her husband's past that neither of them wanted to explore, and she knew that no amount of reading would ever give her the imaginative power to even begin to understand what he had been through. It broke her heart to see it happen again. She relieved the final maid of her pile of books and put it on the table. "These are fairytales," she said. "I know it sounds silly, but if this Enchantress can just go around casting spells on people when she feels like it then I think we have to consider what might have influenced her, exactly what she wants you to learn and how." She sat down beside him. "Where would you like to start?"

The Beast eyed the mountain of books with a slightly queasy feeling. While his reading had necessarily improved with all the paperwork that confronted him each day, he still struggled to find in it anything like the joy his wife did. "I don't know. What do you think?"

She recognised the cause of his hesitation and reached for one of the fairytale books. It wouldn't exactly cheer him up, but he might have an easier time with those than _Right and Wrong – An Introduction_, which had seven hundred and eighteen pages and lettering so small it might have been transcribed by philosophically-minded insects. She flipped to the contents page of the fairytale book and pointed out some stories that contained transformations. "See if anything in here seems relevant."

It struck Belle as she heaved _Right and Wrong_ open that that was the first time almost since their honeymoon that she had heard him use those words. _What do you think?_ It wasn't that he ignored her or controlled her, it was just that there was never any need to consult her on anything. They were separated for most of the day while he dealt with matters of state, for which he had Cogsworth and various other people to advise him, and when they were together the time felt so precious that each would accept the other's suggestions about how they might spend it without discussion. It was almost as though this was the first time they'd had anything to work at together.

Her skin prickled with cold realisation. Was she _grateful_ for the curse? Of course not. It was a horrible thing to happen to her husband and she'd give anything to end his suffering.

But the fact remained that they were together now. They had taken breakfast together, and then Cogsworth had come to ask what he wanted done about various political matters before dashing off again to take care of it, leaving them alone together.

Alone together. Just like those early days, when she had started to get to know the Beast.

They would fix this. Of course they would. To even contemplate the alternative was unthinkable. But perhaps, in the meantime, it wouldn't be all bad.

She peered in a determined fashion at _Right and Wrong_ but, under the table, as though it were a secret, she slipped her hand into his huge, warm paw and squeezed it gently.

He looked up at her then and was struck by a similar thought. "Do you remember _Romeo and Juliet_?" he asked her.

She gave him a puzzled smile. "What do you mean?"

"That day in the library when we read _Romeo and Juliet_?"

Her smile widened. "'For never was a story of more woe...' Of course I do."

He stroked her hand gently with his thumb. "I remember realising then..." He was struck suddenly with embarrassment and stopped.

"What?"

He turned a little in his seat towards her. "I remember realising then that there might be something worse that could happen than not breaking the spell. I thought the worst possible thing had already happened to me, but for Romeo, when he found Juliet in her tomb... he'd have done anything to bring her back. I'd been waiting all that time to fall in love and I didn't even know what it was."

"It's not—" Belle hesitated. She'd been going to say that love wasn't really like _Romeo and Juliet_, that being star-crossed was only the beginning, that the love in books was all she'd known until she'd come to love him but this was so much better than she could have imagined, but it would have spoiled the moment. She knew what he meant. Instead, she stretched up and kissed his furry cheek.

He smiled. "Shall we go for a walk?"

Belle hesitated, jarred. "What?"

"Let's go for a walk together, just you and me. We haven't had a chance to spend much time together lately."

"What about the books?"

"We'll only be an hour or so. I'll still be cursed when we get back and we can do it then."

Belle wavered. He'd been so miserable the night before and she'd begun to be very afraid of how the curse might affect him. She didn't know much about those long, lonely years before she had arrived at the castle but she had an idea that there was a darkness there that her presence, however determinedly she stood by his side, might not be enough to shield him from now that the curse was back. If a walk would cheer him up, perhaps it was a good idea. They could look for answers in the book later, and it would do them both good not to spend every waking moment thinking about it.

"Alright," she said. Then a thought struck her. "Oh, but wait."

The Beast had stood up and now looked down at her, crestfallen. "What is it?"

Belle struggled for a moment. What they had both forgotten was that things were different now. The castle was no longer the secluded place it had been, years ago. Now it was something of a political hub. Cogsworth had a full programme of diplomatic events today and a quick glance out of the window confirmed her suspicions. Two merchants gossiping on the lawn weren't exactly a crowd, but one person who'd seen the princess out for a morning stroll with a seven foot Beast was one person too many.

He followed her gaze. "Oh," he said.

"Perhaps we could go tonight, when it starts to get dark?" she suggested.

What happened next really frightened Belle. She had known her husband to get into some really foul tempers, though usually directed at himself more than anyone else. What she had never seen, from either man or Beast, was the blank, unresponding look that she now observed on his face.

He sat down again. "Yes," he said. "Perhaps."

He didn't want to walk in the dark. He didn't want to hide from people who might see him, to lurk in shadows, to force his beautiful wife into that secretive, fearful, animal life he thought he'd escaped. He'd only survived it because he'd had to. Belle... Belle didn't have to.

Belle stared hard at the words on the page but they wouldn't sink in. Tears were beginning to distort them, though she wiped them away quickly with a handkerchief under the pretence of blowing her nose. She wasn't at all sure she was ready for this. Was that wrong? She had sworn to be his best friend, to support him no matter what. He was her husband and she loved him.

But they already knew that love wasn't going to be enough this time.

* * *

_In the immortal words of Marty McFly: "Heavy."_

_I wavered a few times while writing this chapter. I don't want this story to basically boil down to "The prince has been cursed again and this makes him very unhappy", but we see him go to a pretty dark place in the movie (you know, for Disney) and I really do feel that it would be worse this time, because it always is when you think a bad situation has gone away forever and then suddenly you're right back where you were. So I think I'd be undermining my story if I tried to have too much fun with it (don't worry, a chapter where Lumière impersonates the prince at a formal dinner party is on its way!), but please let me know if any of this angst seems gratuitous. Or, I suppose, if you think there should be more! I really want to get the balance right._

_You may or may not have noticed my chapter titles. Yes, I do have a post-it note by my computer on which I've written all the words I can think of that start "re" and yes, some of them do work better than others! I'm quite pleased with it, though. And you know what else starts with "re"? __**Re**__view!_

_Sorry, I couldn't __**re**__sist._


	12. Replace

The Enchantress couldn't remember ever having worked this hard before. Days of research, deep thought and trying to quell her growing panic had failed to produce results. Now and then she would sit at her desk, muscles tensed, with one hand gripping the magic mirror and the other drumming an aggravated tattoo with her fingernails. Things weren't going well at the castle. She didn't know what she'd been expecting; that suddenly, after two years, Belle's own innate goodness would start to seep into her husband by osmosis? If so, she was disappointed. In the absence of answers, Belle – much like the Enchantress herself – had turned to books for them, only she seemed to be trying to understand exactly what her husband's deficiencies were by trying to define exactly what it was to be good.

And perhaps that was the problem. Belle _was_ good. Not a saint, perhaps, but it came naturally to her to try. Her husband, meanwhile, was not in the habit of thinking of others. He did not deliberately overlook their feelings, but they simply did not disturb the surface of his thoughts unless pointed out to him. Belle seemed to think she could train him to think otherwise. Perhaps she was right. The Enchantress certainly couldn't think of a better idea. She didn't hold out much hope, though. After that first morning in the library, which she had observed with an ever-deepening frown, the Beast's frustration had grown more and more apparent, and Belle was now left to continue her studies alone. They hadn't argued yet, but Belle's hurt was apparent even through the mirror, and the Enchantress felt yet again the pang of guilt at the suspicion that she might have negatively interfered with this young woman's life.

One remark, thrown bitterly aside by Belle, stuck with her. "_If this Enchantress can just go around casting spells on people when she feels like it then I think we have to consider what might have influenced her._"

Would that make a difference? She wasn't sure. She'd never heard anything like that, about spells being personal to their creators. But then... this spell had responded to her meaning, hadn't it? The magic had obeyed the exact wording of the curse when it was first cast: the prince had fallen in love and received love in return and it had been lifted. And yet not completely satisfied. Somehow, despite the clumsiness with which she had cast it, the spell had absorbed her intentions, the intentions that were not fulfilled even when the curse was broken. And that was why it had failed the test. So could it, then, go deeper than that? Was it possible that the spell understood things about her that even she did not consciously know?

She concentrated. What, _exactly_, had she wanted the prince to learn? It all seemed so long ago now but she must, she had to remember...

_Spoiled, selfish and unkind..._

And the disguise. The beggar woman. Because it wouldn't have been the same if he'd allowed her in the way she usually looked, all blonde hair, green eyes and porcelain skin. But why an old beggar woman? A repulsive crone, that's what she'd been going for, and she remembered that it had been rather effective. But why?

What had she been trying to teach him?

Some of it was easy, just a case of opposites. Instead of spoiled, he should be humble. Aware of other people as important, deserving, and not just himself. Instead of selfish, selfless. Putting the needs of others first. And instead of unkind, kind. A child could understand this much.

So what would make it unique to her? Did humility, selflessness and kindness have special meanings for her? Perhaps they had, back then. She remembered herself thirteen years ago, the way she might have remembered an old friend with whom she no longer had anything in common but uncomfortable memories. She'd had a lot of opinions, then, a drive to change things. Back before she'd realised that there was just as much wrong with her as everyone else.

She found she was thinking about Kestrel, completely against her will. She had loved Kestrel, the gawky boy she'd met when she was first discovering magic. She'd grown to hate him as they both grew older but back then he'd meant more to her than she liked to admit now. His good opinion had meant everything. He'd changed her, just in little ways, but they'd added up. He had criticised, undermined – but it was constructive criticism, he said, if there was something you could do to change it. And they had had magic. So she'd changed. Her hair a little blonder, her eyes a little greener, her skin a little clearer, until she wasn't sure what she really looked like any more. There had been other changes, too, under the skin, things that magic couldn't change back. Kestrel had changed too, more dramatically. He'd lost everything that she'd loved about him, become a strange, shifting creature. He'd altered every aspect of his appearance until nothing about the boy she'd first met remained, inside or out. When she'd refused to follow suit, he'd laughed in her face.

And now he was passing judgement on her again. She'd had a letter the day after Kestrel had visited, postmarked somewhere that did not, by conventional definitions, even exist. It said that the Council of Magic Practitioners was very concerned about the spell she had cast and that her presence was requested to explain her actions in person. It did not say that she would stand trial, but that was what it amounted to. She imagined Kestrel poring over the records, tearing her work apart to see what she'd done. How much would he find, she wondered, that was because of him?

She tried to shake him from her mind.

Why was it kinder to let in an old crone than a pretty girl? And what had she been thinking?

* * *

Cogsworth was sweating like a pig, if the pig in question were confined to a sauna and then told that future supplies of pig swill to itself and its fellow pigs would be dependent on its completing a fiendishly difficult crossword in under a minute.

The Illyrians had arrived.

"Now, Lumière, are you absolutely sure you understand what you have to do?"

Lumière exchanged glances with Belle, who was standing beside him at the top of the staircase, resplendent in a new gown, and pretended to think about it. "Some of the finer details may have escaped me," he muttered, "but, in essence, I need to go down there, tell everyone I am the prince, that I am very pleased to meet them, and that you will show them to their suite."

Cogsworth wiped his brow. If the next few days didn't kill him, he'd know he was going to live forever. "And?"

Lumière rolled his eyes. "And then say absolutely nothing else until given further instruction."

"Good."

"Although I must say—"

"Don't," said Belle, with uncharacteristic sharpness. They looked at her in surprise. Belle made to massage her temples, then remembered how much make-up she was wearing. "I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm just tired. Let's get this over with."

They both felt guilty then. Belle never bore the brunt of her husband's anger but they knew that it was she who would feel most keenly the sullen brooding he had been exhibiting of late. They could see him from here, leaning over a higher gallery and scowling down at Lumière as he took his place. They didn't know if Belle had seen him, but they suspected she could sense both his presence and his mood.

Cogsworth took a deep breath and stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket. "You're right, of course," he said. "Let's get this over with."

Belle slipped her arm through Lumière's, grateful at least to have a friend beside her even as she wished desperately that it could have been his. They started to descend the grand staircase into the bustling hallway. A sea of sparkling gowns and velvet suits surged below them. Cogsworth gave the signal to a footman downstairs who was acting as herald for the evening.

"Presenting!" he yelled, with evident job satisfaction. "His Royal Highness the Prince, and Her Royal Highness, Princess Belle."

Belle squeezed Lumière's arm and whispered "Good luck" through a fake smile.

* * *

_Oh my goodness! Thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I was checking my emails on my phone (I'm a recent smartphone convert, so this is still exciting to me) periodically throughout yesterday, and every time I checked I got another two reviews! I couldn't believe my eyes! _

_A massive thank you also to Nikki and Faith, who were lovely enough to workshop some problems I was having about the plot of this story with me. I knew where it was going but had only the sketchiest of ideas about how to get there and they really helped me flesh them out, as well as giving me a couple of brilliant new ones! I'm now so excited about where this story is going and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I know I'll enjoy writing it. And do keep the reviews coming, because they've been absolutely making my day!_


	13. Relief

Despite Cogsworth's misgivings, the Illyrian contingent were duly directed to their rooms, from whence they emerged some time later and made their way to the ballroom. Belle and Lumière were dispatched with a hand-picked selection of the prince's political advisors to join them and the careful dance of diplomacy began. It was fairly easy stuff to begin with. Even when the prince displayed to visitors was the genuine article, it was necessary for Cogsworth to sit down with the royal couple and a sheaf of papers and outline the known details - names, marital status, political leanings and so on - of the expected visitors and, truth be told, Lumière had studied these much harder than the Prince ever had. Watching him make his way around the room with Belle on his arm, a glittering whirl of charm and small talk, Cogsworth was reluctantly impressed. Indeed, by the time a kitchen boy of harrowed appearance manifested himself at his elbow to inform him that dinner was ready, he was beginning to feel that this might actually work. Although that wasn't to say that he had relaxed.

He adjusted his cravat and cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you will kindly make your way to the dining room, dinner is served." As the assembled crowd made its collective way to the door, he ducked skilfully into it, resurfacing beside Lumière. "If I might trouble you for a moment of your time, your highness?"

Lumière made to respond, but found that he and Belle had already been steered into a corner. Cogsworth was good at what he did. They stood in silence for a moment as the room cleared.

Belle was the first to speak. "I think you're doing very well, Lumière."

"Thank you, _cherie_. It is good of you to say so."

She ventured a small smile of encouragement. "The first time I had to do this, I felt-"

Cogsworth cut her off. "No time for chit-chat, I'm afraid. Lumière, this is where we're counting on you. During dinner it'll just be more of the same. Ask them about the weather in Illryia or something."

Lumière raised an eyebrow. "For five courses? They must have the meteorology of a-"

"Yes, yes, _alright_. That's your department. But after dinner, they're going to want to get down to business. Once the plates have been cleared away, Belle-"

"I excuse myself," Belle sighed, thinking of lonely evenings reading in bed by candlelight while her husband managed international relations over a couple of glasses of wine.

Cogsworth coughed, pointedly. "_If_ I could continue without any more interruptions? We have only a few moments before the two of you will be missed in there." He gestured towards the dining room.

Belle nodded, silently, embarrassed to find that she was starting to cry. How ridiculous. She knew that Cogsworth didn't mean it, that he was only, like the rest of them, trying to do his best in a difficult situation, and yet... No, she wasn't doing this now. Later, she could lock herself in any one of a dozen bathrooms and leak stupid tears at her leisure, but not now. Right now she was a princess, and princesses didn't cry over nothing at important dinner parties. Right now, she had a job to do.

Cogsworth continued. "Once Belle has gone, things will begin in earnest. The official meetings won't start until tomorrow morning, of course, but, in my experience, both sides will have made all major decisions by the end of tonight. The Prince's advisors know what we're looking to achieve. I've told them the Prince is sick, a relapse of the illness that he supposedly recovered from two years ago." When telling a lie, Cogsworth had learned, it was important to mix in as much of the truth as possible. That was diplomacy. "They know the Master well, of course, so you won't fool them, but I've explained that you're taking his place so as not to offend the Illyrians."

"I thought we were in a hurry?" Lumière interjected, with a sidelong glance at Belle. She looked upset, but he could tell she was trying to hide it so he pretended not to notice. To anyone who didn't know her, she would simply have looked thoughtful.

Cogsworth's eyes narrowed. "Very well, Lumière, these are your instructions. Remain amiable and charming, but firm. You need to follow the lead of the Prince's political advisors while appearing to be in control. Given your proven track record at talking at length without saying anything of importance, I am confident that I'm leaving the kingdom in safe hands. Understand?"

Lumière rolled his eyes, expressively. "Yes, Cogsworth. I understand."

"Good." With that, Cogsworth was gone, dashing off to supervise the serving of dinner.

Lumière turned to Belle. "Do not worry about him. If Cogsworth were wound any tighter his springs would pop out. Come on."

Belle gave him a wan smile and they walked together into the dining room.

As Belle took her seat beside Lumière for dinner, she reflected that this nerve-wracking experience was actually remarkably similar to her wedding day. After all, here she was, sitting down to a huge meal that - despite the efforts of the castle's formidable team of cooks - she would not enjoy, beside a man who wasn't the Beast she'd fallen in love with and under the scrutiny of a whole parade of well-dressed strangers. She'd gone along with it then because she loved her husband and because it was what had to be done. She supposed it was the same tonight.

The evening progressed exactly as Cogsworth had said it would. Lumière kept up an unfaltering stream of conversation and jokes with the people seated near to them, pausing only to fork in the odd mouthful of food in order to keep up the pretence that they were having dinner and not engaging in political drama with edible props. As the remains of an excellent dessert were cleared away, Belle caught Lumière's gaze.

"I do hope you'll excuse me," she said, directing a final, dazzling smile at no one in particular. "I'm a little tired. I think I'll retire now."

Everyone rose with her and a general murmur indicated that they hoped she would rest well.

Lumière kissed her on the cheek. "Good night, _cherie_," he said, gently.

A footman opened the door for her and she made her exit. Behind her, she made out obligatory remarks of a "your delightful bride" variety as the loaded conversation faded behind her.

She found the Beast lurking at the top of the grand staircase. She dug deep in her reserves and found a smile for him. "There you are, darling. I've left Lumière to it. Do you want to read together for a little while? Not research, unless you want to, just a story or two. What do you think?"

He nodded brief assent and they walked a couple of steps together in the direction of their quarters before he asked, "How did it go?"

"Very well, actually," she replied, electing to remain positive. "Lumière is doing a really good job. I'll admit that I had my doubts to begin with, but he's a natural host. He's so good at that sort of thing, making conversation, turning on the charm - he even kissed me on the cheek when I left." She hesitated, noting a sudden change in the atmosphere. "Not that you're not good at those things, of course, just that we were all worried that Lumière - that someone would notice..."

"He kissed you?" the Beast had stopped walking.

Belle frowned. "Yes. As I was leaving. I really don't think anyone can have suspected..." she trailed off. This couldn't be going where she thought it was.

"I see," he said.

"What?"

"Nothing." An undertone of growl was evident in his voice. "I just don't see why he had to kiss you."

Belle knew she had a choice. She could just leave it there, change the subject. It was more than likely that he'd regret saying that soon enough, if he remembered. She knew he couldn't really suspect that what he was insinuating was true. But why should he be allowed to insinuate it in the first place? She knew it was a stressful situation, that he was deeply unhappy, that he felt trapped, left out. Her heart ached for him and she would do whatever it took to help him break the curse again. But why did she have to be the one to stay calm? Why did it have to fall to her to be reasonable, to fix everything?

"Don't talk to me like that," she said.

The Beast bristled. "I'll talk to you however I want!" he snarled. "I'm not the one who was down there just now kissing someone pretending to be my husband."

Belle violently tugged jewel-studded pins from her hair, releasing it so that it fell, tangled, around her shoulders. She pushed her fingers through it, glowering at the ground. "You're being unreasonable."

"I'll tell you what's unreasonable!" his voice was approaching a roar now. Belle widened her eyes and indicated the still-visible door to the dining room below them. Somehow still united while arguing, they moved into a vacant room and closed the door before continuing in hushed tones. "I'll tell you what's unreasonable!" he repeated. "That I've had to stand up here, hiding in the dark from the people _I_ was supposed to be talking to today, while _my wife_ stands next to someone else, pretending he's me, smiling and laughing like everything is fine, while I'm... this! This hideous monster, a prisoner in my own castle-"

She cut him off mid-flow, staring up at him, cheeks red, lips taut. "It's what we had to do! We talked about this."

"We didn't talk about Lumière kissing you."

"For goodness' _sake_! You're behaving as though you've caught us _in flagrante_ in the rose garden!"

"Oh, something I missed?" He knew he was being ridiculous now, but somehow he couldn't stop. He just wanted her to know... what, exactly? But the argument had started.

In the absence of words, Belle let out an aggravated squawk. "Ugh! I suppose you think you're the only one who's suffering, do you?"

He spread his paws, indicating his altered physique. "Certainly looks that way to me."

Belle took a deep breath. The air felt thinner, somehow, the real world distant. For now there was just her and her anger. "Because it always has to be about you, doesn't it? There's just your world - your castle, your rules. You think because the curse broke, because we love each other, that you can do no wrong now. But the Enchantress was right - all it means is that I'm in your world too, that once in a while you think about us instead of just you, but you can't even get that right - I mean, for goodness' sake, Cogsworth and Lumière had to tell you how unhappy I was!"

"Belle-"

"And you promised me an adventure, just you and me, and that meant so much to me, and now all we can do is stay here and try to fix this horrible spell..." She was crying now, tears rolling down burning cheeks. "And I know you're unhappy and I hate that and I'd give anything, absolutely anything, to make this go away because I can't stand to see you miserable, but for you to stand there and say that..." She stopped, almost panting. Part of her knew she'd gone too far. Part of her was just glad that she didn't have to hold it in any more.

The Beast looked at her for a moment, then turned and stalked off.

Belle gave a whimpering sigh, unclenched white-knuckled fists and sank into a chair, exhausted.

* * *

They both found their way to the bedroom at about the same time. They met on the balcony and stood in silence for a moment, each aware of the other's presence but neither wanting to make the first move. Both felt that things had been said that should not be immediately forgotten, but neither wanted to be apart that night.

Then, all of a sudden, they both lifted their eyes to one another and muttered, "I'm sorry."

They moved together slowly, cautiously, as though newly in love and not two years married, and folded one another in a silent, thankful embrace.

* * *

_Woah. This chapter just kind of happened to me. Like, I'm aware that I've been sitting at the computer typing for a while, but I don't know where the words came from. This was just going to be a chapter about Lumière enjoying his temporary royalty but somehow I wrote this instead. I'm really very pleased with it. Let me know what you think - I won't take it personally if you don't like it because I don't quite believe I wrote it!_


	14. Reignite

Mornings were not Lumière's natural habitat. He was a creature of the evening, at home with romantic sunsets followed by long, slow nights. It was therefore a somewhat unnerving surprise to everyone to see him bounding down a passage in the servants' quarters well before breakfast. Cogsworth, although he would have been the first to chide him for tardiness, didn't like it.

"What's got into you?" he asked, examining his colleague closely. "You're not ill, are you? That's all we need, our replacement prince getting ill. And they've already seen you, now, so it's not like another replacement will do. What is it, a fever? Have you spoken to Mrs Potts? Let me feel your forehead."

Lumière neatly sidestepped him. "My forehead, Cogsworth, is none of your concern. I am fine. _Dieu est aux cieux _and all is right with the world."

"Mmm," said Cogsworth, in a tone that suggested that this was not entirely to be desired. "Well then. You can come to my meeting with the Prince, then. It'll save me briefing you later."

"I prefer a good _de_brief myself," commented Lumière, with the kind of lewd gesture that Cogsworth was not prepared to tolerate on an empty stomach.

"Lumière?"

"Yes?"

"You're disgusting." He grabbed him by the elbow and started to haul him along the corridor. "Come on."

* * *

Belle left her husband in one of the interchangeable reception rooms to wait for Cogsworth and made for the library. She hadn't even asked if he wanted her to stay. They both regretted what had passed between them the previous night, but there was still a certain amount of tension in the air and she knew that attempting to disrupt their usual arrangements would be a risk that wasn't worth taking.

She hated the discord between them. These last two years hadn't exactly been easy, what with the Prince politically returning from the dead in addition to everyone trying to recover from the curse, but there had always been the safety of their marriage to retreat into, even when there wasn't time for them to actually be together. He was her best friend and she just didn't know how to help him.

She was also... disappointed. Was it wrong to think that? It didn't seem as though there was anything she could think that _wasn't_ wrong. Who did she imagine was policing her thoughts? The Enchantress? Maybe. If she thought she could delve like that into a person, to decide whether they were worthy, whether they met up to her standards... What would she find, Belle wondered, if she looked in detail at Belle herself?

Anyway, however hard she tried to smother the feeling, Belle _was_ disappointed. He'd promised her an adventure. It was a silly thing to hold on to in the face of all this and, deep down, she'd always known that it wouldn't be the adventure she'd always dreamed of, with great feats of bravery, avoiding death by the skin of their teeth and then making camp and doing it all again the next morning, because how much danger could a prince be allowed to get into? Now that she thought about it, his "just you and me" promise had been pretty empty. They'd have been lucky to get away from the castle flanked by only, say, ten royal guards. But they would have been away from the castle, away from running the kingdom, and he'd have been doing his best to make her happy. And now they couldn't do it.

Could they? She tried to brush the thought away as ridiculous, but it kept coming back, prodding at the corners of her conscious thought.

Of course they couldn't. Much as she loved him, she surely had to admit to herself that, in his current state, her husband was likely to cause fear and anxiety in the populous at large if spotted out and about in civilised areas.

Was he? Belle frowned. She tried to remember a time before she had known her Beast, a time when he was just a monster in a castle. It was difficult: two years had covered the memory with layer after layer of love and understanding and forgiveness. She was dimly aware that she'd hated him. But... not because he was a Beast. Because he was the monster who'd imprisoned her father, who had taken her own freedom.

The freedom both of them so sorely pined for now.

Perhaps she was underestimating the population. After all, he only _looked_ like a Beast. He was a man inside, a good man, and she would defend that notion to the death, no matter what the Enchantress said. Not everyone would understand, of course – the mob that had stormed the castle the night the curse was broken sprang to mind – but was it fair to say that no one would? _She_ had come to see through it, and she had had real cause to despise him in the beginning. Who was to say that other people couldn't do the same?

Would it help? She wasn't sure. But she was sure of something else: they couldn't carry on like this, isolated in their little backstage world up here, drawing nothing but blanks while life went on without them downstairs.

She had promised him they would fix this. He'd promised her an adventure.

She turned on a glittering high-heel and ran, clattering, back down the corridor. She burst back into the room without knocking and was greeted by the bemused faces of Lumière, Cogsworth and the Beast.

"Come away with me," she said, breathless.

A wall of silence confronted her. After a few puzzled moments, Cogsworth ventured: "Are you alright, Belle?"

She strode over to the table they had congregated around and gripped the back of a chair, staring, starry-eyed, at her husband. "Let's go on my adventure anyway. To hell with everything else! Let's hitch up one of the carts the servants use to go to market and just _go_!"

The Beast looked at her with a mixture of confusion and concern. "Belle, what are you talking about?"

Belle realised she wasn't making a lot of sense and forced herself to slow down. "Listen," she said. "I know you're miserable here and I am too. It's no life, lurking in the darkness, scrabbling hopelessly for answers, you said that yourself. So let's go out into the light! Cogsworth's got everything under control and Lumière's doing a great job as _faux_ prince – this is the chance we've been waiting for! You can't be the prince and the kingdom's never needed a princess, so let's just be... us. You and me. What do you think?"

The Beast hesitated. It was there, the light in Belle's eyes that made him want to forget everything and sweep her up into the air so that they could fly together on the wings of her excitement, but something was holding him back. "Belle, we can't. I'm a monster, remember? We won't get a mile away from the castle without the locals grabbing their pitchforks."

Belle paused, but only for a moment. She doubted her husband's ability to share her faith in the basic goodness of people. At the moment, anyway. "We'll cover the cart, so no one can see in. We can travel in secret. I'll wear my own clothes so no one knows I'm the princess and we'll be careful about where we stop." She leaned forward, meeting his gaze, unblinking. "If nothing else, we'll be free. Even if it's just for a few days. Do you trust me?"

He took her in again, her soft, brown hair, her huge, imploring eyes, her soft, gentle lips. He'd be a fool – he'd _been_ a fool – to miss chances to be alone with her. Even before the spell had broken the first time, she'd given him freedom and happiness he'd long since forgotten to dream about. If he was going to put his faith in anything, it was going to be her. "I do," he said. "Let's do it."

* * *

_I apologise for any bizarre quirks that this chapter might exhibit – I'm sleep-deprived and stressed! The good news is that this chapter, while not terribly exciting, sets the story off on what I can only describe as the "road trip" element of the plot, which I'm really looking forward to writing and for which credit must, again, go to Nikki (nikki(dot)anjo - the site eats the dot if I put it in properly!) and Faith (LumBabsFan) for helping me to develop. The bad news is that, between driving lessons, having teeth out and the start of the new semester, I'm not going to have as much time for writing as I have had for the last few weeks, so updates won't be quite as regular. However, as I keep saying, I really am very excited about this fic and I genuinely feel like it's going to get finished! As always, thank you so much to everyone who is reading and reviewing this fic, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your support!_

_Oh, and ladyofthelake - I almost ended the last chapter so before the last few lines about them making up, but I didn't want to leave any doubt as to whether they would. They really need each other at the moment and they can't afford for an argument to divide them too much. I didn't want it to be that big a deal. They really do love each other, but it's only natural for them to fall out when they're trapped under this much pressure. Having them repair their relationship after a huge fight would have been taking them back to where they were in the movie, and I wanted to cover some new ground. But I absolutely understand where you were coming from!  
_


	15. Real

Nothing should be expected to happen quickly in government. And, as Cogsworth reflected on what felt like his hundredth harried journey between two of the farthest reaches of the castle, sometimes being the head of the prince's household meant you _were_ the government. So why it had been seen fit, when he was already balancing his not inconsiderable regular duties with giving Lumière royalty lessons, to instruct him to plan for the royal couple's immediate departure on what had been given the almost unconscionably vague parameters of "an adventure", he could not begin to comprehend.

The prince and princess could not simply saddle up a couple of spare horses and pop out for a week or two. That wasn't how it worked. There were plans to be made, contingencies to be thought of, itineraries to be produced, to say nothing of security – except that they had refused it. Just outright refused to be accompanied by guards. The prince and princess, for heaven's sake! If he'd had any time at all to really think about it, the stress would probably have killed him. As it was, there was so much to do that he simply hadn't found a moment to let it overwhelm him. He was the Master's faithful servant and would follow his instructions without question. Well, not many questions. Questions did not meet with a positive response from the Master. But even without the threat of one of His Royal Highness' notorious rages, Cogsworth was, at the core, an English valet. Obedience and efficiency flowed through his veins. Discretion was his middle name. Or it might have been, but he kept it very quiet.

So, those of the household staff that could possibly be spared from their duties had been scrambled to form what it pleased Cogsworth to think of as an elite squad of men and women who acted as a well-oiled preparation machine. Outside, stable boys were preparing two strong and inelegant horses more used to work in maintaining the royal estate, while those used on ceremonial occasions languished in their stalls. Anyone who looked like he or she could handle a hammer had been drafted in to convert the cart used to transport supplies from the market on a banquet day into what was referred to in hushed tones as a caravan. The prince and princess in a _caravan_! You didn't have to be Cogsworth to find the notion unsettling.

* * *

"I'm not entirely sure I understand, dear." Mrs Potts gave Belle a searching look. She felt responsible, in a way. Belle had lacked a motherly influence from a very early age and, now that she loved her as much as she had always loved the young prince, she couldn't help feeling that it should have fallen to her, as the closest thing to a maternal figure in the poor girl's life, to iron out this strange crease in her personality.

Belle, looking flushed and harassed, stared out of one of the huge windows in the royal suite as she replied. "I don't know if I do, either. It just... feels right." She hesitated. It was a poor, flimsy excuse for the flurry of activity she had sparked, for dragging the crown prince out of his castle for a completely unplanned tour of the kingdom and she knew it. She couldn't have been more aware of it. Deep down inside, no matter how many gowns and precious stones she was decorated with, she was just a peasant girl. She shouldn't even be here.

"I see." Mrs Potts was one of very few people in the world whose kindly exterior covered only an even kindlier interior, gently marbled throughout with layers of love and goodness, so the remark was not a sarcastic one. She _did_ see – at least, she saw the earnest look on Belle's face, had seen the quiet moments of reflection tinged with regret that had preceded it. It was as Lumière had said, only days ago – was it really so recent as all that? Belle wasn't happy.

Belle smoothed her skirts, then hesitantly met her friend's gaze. "Have I made a mistake?" she asked.

Mrs Potts' immediate instinct was to reassure her that she hadn't, but she paused to give the question serious thought. "Well... what exactly do you plan to do?"

Belle frowned. It was a difficult question. "Just..." She took a breath, her eyes straying to the window, to the great wide somewhere that beckoned, just out of reach. "Just _go_." She renewed her concentration. "We never go anywhere. I mean, I don't think he's been _anywhere_. Has he? He was trapped here all those years because of the curse and I know you can't get those years back, any of you, but now you're all supposed to be free and you're not because we're all stuck here. Sometimes I think—" But she stopped herself.

Mrs Potts took her hand and squeezed it gently. "What, dear?"

Unable to hold it in any longer, Belle plunged on. "Sometimes I think that the... the way he was, the way everyone was wasn't really the curse at all. I think – and I know this is a terrible thing to say and I know how lucky I am, I do, I swear – I think that it was royalty. Royalty cursed him. All this power and all these rules, we're all suffocated. I never knew him before the curse, I only know the change I saw, but I can't believe he's ever been really wicked. The Enchantress said herself that the curse was wrong. Who's to say that he wasn't the way he was because he was royal? What if he'd been just... oh, I don't know, a farm boy. A poor boy from a poor family who worked on the land to keep from starving. How could he have been spoiled then? How could he not have compassion for the unfortunate? And then if I'd met him and loved him..." She trailed off.

It had been quite a speech and might easily have lost its audience, but Mrs Potts could have listened for England. She gave her a little smile. "Then you might have gone off and had your adventures, yes?"

Belle massaged her temples. "Yes. No. I don't know. It's easy to say that when you're at the head of a banquet table every night, isn't it? But that's just it. That's what royalty's done to me. Now I'm spoiled too."

Mrs Potts took a moment to consider her answer. Then, leaning in, she said: "We're all just people. Prince, farm boy – either way, he's just a man. And you're just a woman. But you two are lucky, not because he's a prince, but because you know beyond all doubt that you love each other. The curse would never have broken otherwise. No matter what happens, you can both hold on to that. I trust you to take care of yourself and your husband when you have to, just as I trust him to take care of you. Now all you need to do is trust yourself."

Belle nodded, swallowed and pulled herself together. "Thank you," she said.

* * *

They left before dawn the next day. Belle rode in the driver's seat, clutching the reins in ivory-knuckled hands, cloak drawn tightly against the frosty morning air. The Beast rode in the covered cart, feeling curiously like luggage. The indignity did not escape him, but he made no comment. In fact, nothing much was said at all for the first few miles. Then, as familiarity began to fade behind them, Belle brought the horses to a halt at the edge of the forest. She slipped out of her seat and knocked on the side of the cart.

"Come and see this," she said.

He did so, hesitant but trusting. She took his paw in one hand and gestured with the other.

"Look," she said.

A wheat field stretched out before them, rendered grey by the murky light, but Belle had timed the stop perfectly. As they watched, a cloud that had been obscuring the first, orange-pink rays of the morning sun completed moved sedately away. The light washed over the silent field and painted it in deeper, richer and more varied versions of gold than even Midas could have imagined.

And for a moment, just a brief, stupid moment, they weren't a prince and a princess, or even a Beast and a beauty. They were just two people, standing as one, in the face of a sunrise.

* * *

_Sorry for the delay! Real Life has been a demanding mistress for the last few weeks. I'm sorry also that nothing much happens in this chapter but, on reflection, it felt like too much of a jump to go straight from the last chapter into adventuring. And hey, at least I updated!_

_To "Sorry", an anon reviewer on the last chapter: I really wanted to write you a PM but obviously you're anon so I couldn't. And then it took me ages to update so you probably won't even see this but... damnit, I'm going to respond to you anyway! I thought you made a really interesting point. And, although I know you were making a criticism, I actually agree with you. I don't think Belle was entirely thinking about the Beast when she came up with this idea. It's more that everything came to a head for her and kind of exploded as "I want an adventure!" when it was actually a lot more complex than that. I hope I've addressed that a little bit more in this chapter, but at the end of the day... I actually don't think Belle is perfect. And now she's in an incredibly difficult situation. If you do have an account and just didn't want to use it because you were afraid I'd be like "OMG Y U FLAMEZ?", please send me a PM because I'd love to discuss this with you!_


	16. Reveal

It was late morning when a small gap appeared between two flaps of the material obscuring the contents of the cart. A large blue-irised eyeball materialised between them, the pupil darting back and forth a couple of times before hastily withdrawing. The gap closed.

"Belle," rumbled a low voice. "We're on a road."

Belle, her attention having been fixed on said road and their relationship to it for some hours, had thus entered a kind of trance of disinterested concentration and therefore responded only with "Mm."

The Beast tapped his claws on the cart's wooden base for a few moments in a twitchy sort of way, then tried again. "Belle. _Belle!_"

Belle shook herself into alertness. "What is it? Darling," she added, not having meant to be testy.

"We're on a road," the Beast repeated. "We might come across _people_."

Belle slowed the horses to a comfortable walk. "That's what the covered cart is for, remember?"

"I know. But I don't like it." He sighed, shifting his position. "I'm not ready."

She eased them to a halt at the edge of the road and turned in her seat. Taking a moment to compose herself, she lifted up the edge of the cloth and poked her head through. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"I think so," he said. "It's just... I think this might be the furthest I've been from home."

Belle frowned, though not unkindly. "Is it?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I think my parents took me to the coast once, when I was very small. How far is that?"

Belle shrugged. "Two, maybe three days' ride." She reached through, awkwardly unbalanced, and squeezed his shoulder. "We don't have to carry on if you don't want to."

"No," he said, "I do. It's just... What will I do? If someone sees me?"

Belle looked down for a moment, then started to clamber through the opening. "You know," she said, reaching his side and straightening her clothes, "I've been thinking."

He looked down at her, a teasing smile on his face in spite of everything. "A dangerous pastime."

She rolled her eyes and nudged him. "I know. But maybe..." She paused to arrange the words in her head. "Don't you think that maybe you've overestimated me?"

It was his turn to nudge her. "I don't see how that's possible."

She arched one eyebrow and smiled, mock-annoyed at the interruption, before continuing. "But you're not afraid of me seeing you. Now, I mean," she added, trying not to think about that horrible first moment the night he had been transformed again. _I don't want you to touch me..._

"No," he replied, looking away. Then, meeting her gaze again, "But you're my wife. If I didn't know you loved me..." Something struck him then and he stopped.

Belle reached across and squeezed his paw. A moment later she said "But I wasn't always your wife. What about those early days, when we were just becoming friends? You weren't afraid for me to see you then, were you?"

"No." He looked away. "I was excited. I missed you when we weren't together. I mean, I wished I looked like myself, so that I could show you that you didn't need to be afraid, to make it easier for you to love me. But I suppose that I came to realise that you weren't afraid and that it didn't matter to you, that you could see past it." He looked back at her. "That's what I love about you."

Belle swallowed. "But don't you think other people could do that too? See you for who you are?" She smoothed a couple of stray strands of hair behind her ear. "I don't think that makes me special." She hesitated, then plunged on. "Do you _still_ miss me when we're not together?"

He frowned. "What do you mean? We're always together."

Belle looked away this time, softly shaking her head. "We're always in the castle. We sleep in the same bed. But I never see you. I don't know what you do all day. I miss _you_ when you're gone. And when you're with me we never talk..." She was crying now. She hadn't meant to, but the ridiculousness of it was suddenly rushing up to meet her. What was she _doing_? Dragging her husband out on some stupid quest, chasing some stupid childhood dream of hers just when he needed her help. Help she'd always longed to give him but he'd never asked for. And now they were miles from anywhere and she was tired and all she wanted to do was snuggle up to him and feel safe only now she was going to have to explain what was the matter with her and, and... "If another girl had found the castle and made that bargain with you, would you have fallen in love with her instead?"

The Beast's eyes widened. So did Belle's. She certainly hadn't meant to say that. She hadn't even realised that she'd been thinking it. Now, though, the dam disintegrated and the feeling flooded through. She realised it had been there all along, that uncertainty, when she thought about their story. She had never seen the fact that she had fallen in love with a Beast, as he had, as an indication of a kind of purity and generosity of spirit. She _had_ been frightened by him, but he spoke with a human voice, tried to behave like a gentleman. She had come to know him, had fallen in love with his underlying sweetness, his earnest, gentle nature. She hadn't undergone a heroic struggle against the urge to hate him because of how he looked. She had felt nothing of the kind – and who would have? If there was anything that two years as a princess had taught her, it was humility. She wasn't special. She was one of any number of village girls who, if accidentally plucked from obscurity, would have made a decent job of wearing a tiara and smiling. She didn't particularly deserve a prince, but she wasn't unworthy of one either.

What had bothered her, she now realised, was that they had been alone all that time. In most of her favourite romances, the peasant girl caught the attention of a prince who could have had his pick of any number of finer ladies thanks to her unsurpassable beauty and kindness and strength of spirit. Her prince, though they could be sure that their love was true enough to break a spell, had been in desperate need of someone to love him. He hadn't chosen her. Fate had.

"Belle..." he began, but suddenly they were both conscious of a sharp ray of light. They looked up. A large, hooked nose was protruding into the cart followed, at some distance, by a squinting pair of eyes and a sparsely-toothed mouth.

"Oh," said the mouth, in a deep, wheezing voice. "I'm sorry, I thought this cart was abandoned." The eyes flicked to Belle. "Are you alright, miss?" And then to the Beast. "Oh."

"Oh," said Belle. No other words sprang to mind.

* * *

_Epic AN!_

_First off, I'm so sorry for the delay in updating this! It's been... –checks-... Oh, OK, not as long as I thought, actually. But still way too long and I'm sorry! I'm also sorry if this chapter isn't terribly good. It was really difficult to think my way back into this story because I'd kind of lost my thread. But I'm too far into it now not to finish it off!_

_Second, I'd like to get my plug on. What I've been doing instead of attending to my fanfiction duties is experimenting with other online stuff, namely blogging and making YouTube videos. So if you like my writing enough to not mind if it's not about Beauty and the Beast (although at least one of my blog posts actually is) and/or you would like to see my face and hear it talk about my life and other things, please visit my website IsabellaTyler (dot) com (link in my profile if writing that out into your address bar sounds too much like hard work. I totally understand). You can sign up to get an email every time I add a new post. There's also a link there to my YouTube account and also my Twitter, if that floats your boat (if so please tweet me, I'm feeling so awkward twittering away to myself!). Oh, and I'm working on a kind of comic-book style version of The Phantom of the Opera that sets it in a high school, so that will be posted on the site soon._

_If none of this is interesting to you, that's absolutely fine! I'm still incredibly happy to get hits and reviews on my fics and I'll still be working on this and A Lost Illusion. Plus, throughout December, I'll be posting an edited version of my 2006 Christmas fic The One Thing We're Looking For, because I accidentally deleted it in the summer because I am an idiot._

_As always, thanks for reading!_


	17. Regret

_This is not the way I thought this chapter was going to go. However, evidently the information I had about how it was supposed to go failed to excite me enough to write it, and I'm sure it would therefore not have excited you enough to carry on reading. It is therefore for our mutual benefit that I present you with... drumroll please... an unscheduled plot twist!_

* * *

Belle's mind raced. She'd known this moment was coming – in fact, she'd banked on it as a means of offering her husband some perspective – but there, in that quiet moment, she wasn't prepared for it. She searched desperately for something to say but all she could think was that something unspeakably awful was about to happen and it was all her fault. Beside her, the Beast stiffened and she felt his heart rate increase. She searched the man's wizened face, wondering if he would cry out or run away, if he had companions who would come running, what would happen if they did, when suddenly, and to her surprise, recognition dawned.

"Monsieur Richard?" she found herself asking.

The man, who had been studying the Beast with what now looked like almost passive interest, returned his attention to her. "That's not the little Beauty?" he asked, his face catching cautiously alight.

"It is!" Belle exclaimed.

"And with a..." he squinted, then took a stab at it. "An unusual species of cow?"

Belle flushed. The Beast let out an indignant growl.

"Actually, he's..."

"I'm her husband," the Beast interjected, his voice strained with equal parts relief and humiliation.

Belle took his paw. Best to get this over with quickly. "M. Richard, my husband. Darling, this is Joseph Richard, a merchant from the village where I grew up." In spite of the almost tangible tension, she smiled a little at the memory. "He used to bring back ribbons and little trinkets from his travels for all the children."

The old man gave a smile that could best be described as memorable. "And of all of them, our little Belle was the prettiest. The day that father of yours packed you into that cart and drove out of town broke a lot of young hearts, I don't mind telling you." At this point, Belle made to interject, but the man was of a species whose train of thought was not easily derailed. "So, husband, eh?" He leaned over to peer at the Beast again. "Well, there's no accounting for taste, I suppose. Ours is not to reason why. Judge not yest ye be mauled and eaten, that's my philosophy." Here, he paused and scratched his neck for a moment. "Oh, yes, and it's Joe the Bandit now."

Belle frowned, slightly at sea. "What is?"

"My name. Got to thinking, after a while, that merchanting is a mug's game. There I'd be, having expended money and effort to haul back who knows what from who knows where, and suddenly a man with a false beard and a gun leaps out from behind a rock and demands the lot. Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, that's what I say."

"So you're a thief?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Not been doing too well at it so far, though. Need to get myself a cart and a couple of strong horses, which is why you find me examining yours. But seeing as it's you and you say this, er, this individual is your husband, I shall make my excuses and be on my way." He made to withdraw. Then, struck by a new idea, "Here, I tell you what, our Jacques's out here. You wouldn't like to come out and say _Bonjour_, would you?"

Belle remembered Jacques, his son, as a scrawny boy of sixteen with whom she had shared a desk, now and then, at the little school the village children had attended when their chores allowed. "Yes, alright. But," with a backward glance at her husband, "give us a moment."

"Righto," said Joe the Bandit, and he vanished.

She turned round to face the Beast. She couldn't read his expression. After a moment of trying, she said: "Are you alright?"

"I can't believe it," he said.

"We can leave if you like. I can renew childhood acquaintances any time. But to think what could have happened..."

The Beast wasn't listening. "He wasn't afraid." He smiled, making eye contact with her. "He wasn't afraid!"

Belle smiled back, elation washing over her as she noted not only the implications of this chance encounter but that this was the first smile she had had from her husband in far too long. "You see!" she said. "I told you!" She hesitated. "I should also tell you, though, in the interests of full disclosure –" a princess word she didn't get to use often enough "—that our friend Joe has always been as mad as a bag of frogs."

"Well, you did say you weren't the only one."

Belle thumped him playfully on a sinewy shoulder, laughing louder than the situation required because it felt so good after being, for so long, so close to tears. They enjoyed the moment thoroughly until it passed.

"Let's go and meet Jacques," he said.

"Who?" said Belle, inattentive.

"I don't know, he said to get out and see Jacques. Let's go and see Jacques."

Belle sobered up. "Are you sure?"

"Are you questioning a prince?"

Belle rolled her eyes, levity overcoming surprise. "Alright, let's go and see Jacques."

They fumbled together with the cloth for a moment before emerging, blinking, into the daylight. A moment later Joe the Bandit emerged from the murky depths of the trees that lined the road, a young man in tow. The years had been kinder to Jacques than to his father and he was now a tall, well-built man of twenty with a sharp, handsome face and a strong jaw. His face, like that of his father, illuminated when he caught sight of Belle and he approached her with open arms, folding her into an embrace and kissing her on both cheeks.

"Little Beauty!" he exclaimed. "It's been too long."

"Jacques," Belle smiled. "How are you?"

"Not as good as you! I heard you got married."

"I did." She turned, still smiling, and indicated the hulking form of the Beast. "This is my husband."

Jacques frowned and smiled simultaneously, the look of a man who is aware that he is to be the victim of a practical joke in the very near future and doesn't want to appear embarrassed by it. "I see." Then, deciding to go along with it, he swept a low, mocking bow. "Good afternoon, Mr Belle. How are you today?"

"FIne, thank you," growled the Beast. "And I'm a p-"

"Pierre!" Belle interrupted. "His name is Pierre."

Jacques straightened up and made to exchange glances with his father, but the old man had been distracted by something shiny. He coughed, then pasted a fresh smile across his features. "I hope you're not in a terrible hurry? Papa and I thought you might join us for lunch."

* * *

It was fairly late in the evening that it occurred to the Beast that, for all the attention that his selfishness had been getting of late, there was one crucial aspect of it that had been criminally overlooked. Namely, that he had been keeping Cogsworth to himself these years when these peasants could have benefitted immeasurably from his boundless wisdom on the subject of entertaining. In particular – and here, following one particularly memorable incident in his youth, he could quote from memory – "It is essential to entertain _all_ of your guests, not only the ones you would most like to kiss, your highness." He could not, for a moment, object to the assessment that, of the assembled company, Belle was the most kissable. Indeed, in a concerted effort to be fair to his wife, he had been studiously ignoring Jacques' flirtatious behaviour towards her throughout their extended visit. No one could accuse her of reciprocating and, he told himself, if it didn't bother her it shouldn't bother him. What was bothering him was... Well, loathsome as this shape was, it carried one or two advantages, among them a heightened sense of trouble. He could sense it now, a movement in the air, a whisper among the trees. Attuned to danger, he observed everything with a focused intensity – a glance between the two men who where, after all, all but strangers to them, a brief disappearance by one or other of them, an inexplicable sound or movement in the distance.

Later, he would catalogue these, the clues, the signs he forced himself to overlook. He would take them out to examine them, to press them hard against the walls of his consciousness until he had tasted the pain of every one of them.

He would remember, in a quiet moment, muttering to Belle "Something doesn't feel right. I don't trust them." And he would remember her easy calm as she smiled and said, "Then trust _me_."

He would remember lying down beside her as night fell, curled around the tight little form of her sleeping body, breathing her scent as he faded into unconsciousness.

He would remember being awoken by her scream to find five men binding him while two more dragged her away, his last glimpse of her face, pale in the moonlight, wet with tears, strained in fear and anger.

Most of all, though, he would remember tearing himself free of his bonds and seizing one of the men around the throat, a claw poised to drain his life's blood.

"Let her go!" he roared. "Let her go or I kill him!"

The man spat in his face and grinned. "Ten francs says you won't."

He didn't. He couldn't. And he hated himself for it.

A moment later something very fast and very heavy hit him on the head. After that, all was darkness.

* * *

_OK. That wasn't perfect. I won't say how it wasn't because there's a chance some of you enjoyed it anyway and I don't want to spoil it. What I will say is that I've probably thought of anything negative you have to say about it and I tried very hard not to do it that way but eventually I just had to go ahead and write something. And I can at least give you my personal assurance that it's a lot less boring than it would have been otherwise. And that I'm really looking forward to writing the next chapter.  
_


	18. Recast

_Previously on 'Answer's longest ever fic that she keeps taking ages to update': Belle and the Beast stop to hang out with Belle's childhood friend (now a career criminal) and his dad. Belle gets kidnapped._

_As always, I'm very sorry, real life continues to kick me vigorously in the butt, blah blah blah, on with the story!_

* * *

About half an hour later, pipe in hand, Joe the Bandit resurfaced in the clearing following a moonlit stroll. Coming upon the fallen Beast, he surveyed the scene for a moment, smoking thoughtfully. Eventually, and after deep thought, he said "Ah" in a philosophical sort of way. Tomorrow, he suspected, was going to be a long day.

* * *

The Enchantress had an idea.

This was good and bad news. On the one hand, powerless desperation had not agreed with her, and it felt good to be able to see a means of altering the situation for the better. She hated to fail. Ever since Gaston had walked into her cottage and disrupted what had been a pretty satisfactory status quo, she had been overwhelmed with frustration at her own impulsive stupidity, not even just when casting the transformation spell in the first place. Why had she listened to him? She knew Gaston, had known him all along – not personally, of course, but she had been watching him in the mirror years ago, since it had started to dawn on her that the prince was never going to take his destiny into his own paws and that she was going to have to arrange for some girl or other to practically trip and fall into his lap. The day the mirror found Belle was the day Gaston had arranged to marry her – and propose to her. It hadn't entirely eased her conscience about interfering with an innocent life, but it had uncomplicated the issue significantly.

But Gaston... he tempted her. He was – as he would no doubt have put it himself – a prospect far too good to pass up. In that little village he was a prince in all but name, and if anyone needed a magic lesson in basic humanity, it was him. And that was what she lived for. She could just picture the moment of dumb horror on his smug face as the transformation started... but his wasn't the only face that haunted her. The magical tribunal loomed three days away, in three days she would have to stand in front of a group of the most powerful people in the world, in front of _Kestral_, and tell them what a fool she'd been. She could ill-afford to start casting new spells when all her energies should have been focused on fixing the mess she made of that first one.

Unless...

Well, she'd tried everything else, hadn't she?

And this would hardly be unrelated.

The fact that it would feel _so good_ was neither here nor there.

In any case, she'd suffered a severe career hiccup and run into an unpleasant former lover in the same week. She deserved a treat.

There, she'd talked herself into it. The question now was what exactly it should be.

Not another Beast. The last thing anyone wanted was for what passed for Gaston's mind to be making itself at home in eight feet of solid muscle plus pointy bits, and Kestrel might notice two of them wandering about in the local countryside. No, it would have to be more subtle than that. Something... something like...

Aha! She snapped her fingers. That was it.

As she paused at the door to put on a thick woollen travelling cloak, she paused to observe that what she was about to do had all the hallmarks of A Bad Decision.

She didn't care. A week of feverish, sleepless thinking had been insufficient to produce any good ideas and this one had a certain internal logic. Gaston had got her into this mess, and now he was going to get her out.

* * *

Gaston was hunting. It wasn't going well, largely because he wasn't giving it his full attention. It was as well for him that he'd decided to go alone that day, because even he wasn't completely sure that he could have spun the moment he'd tripped over an exposed tree root at a critical moment and frightened off a boar into a feat of heroism.

He was furious. Really, that was all there was to it. It had been three days, _three days_ since he'd handed over a bag of good silver to that wretch to have him find her. His information had been very clear: Belle and that creature-husband of hers had set off alone into the countryside. How hard could it be to track a monster and a woman? He'd have done it himself without breaking a sweat, but Lefou had pointed out that Belle, being prone to fits of a kind of self-respect that were ill-suited to the fairer sex, might have seen his role in separating her from her husband as a bad thing. Instead, he was expecting a messenger from the band of thieves to let him know when he could happen to encounter their party on the road and do the only thing a man of honour could: pretend to rescue the princess from a group of men prepared to lie down and look dead in exchange for the rest of the money he'd promised them. Three days had passed. No messenger.

It took him a while to realise that he was in an unfamiliar part of the forest. This was, in itself, unsettling. He knew the whole forest like the back of his hand and had done since he was a boy. Except... well, there had been the matter of the castle in the middle of it. When Belle had told the villagers about the Beast, it had sprung instantly to mind. He'd known there was a castle deep in the forest. He'd always known it. He just hadn't been sure that he'd always known it a moment ago.

The feeling he was getting now was similar. To the untrained eye, this was just another bit of the forest – more trees, more rustling noises and birdsong. But his eyes were not untrained. He was the greatest hunter who'd ever lived, at one with his surroundings, unflinching in his...

"Aagh!"

He stopped short, then snapped his head right and left to make absolutely sure that no one had been nearby to hear his involuntary strangled shout. He was definitely alone. That established, he returned his attention to the road ahead.

The road.

Ahead.

There wasn't a road here. Gaston knew that for certain. If the words "categorical" and "absence" had been in his vocabulary he would have applied them to the road situation without a moment's hesitation. And yet, there it was.

"Excuse me, young man."

And there was an old crone on it, addressing him.

Gaston wasn't afraid. Gaston laughed in the face of fear and then punched it for good measure. But he didn't like this. He didn't like it at all.

He took a tentative step towards the crone. She had a face like a bad dream and stood hunched, vulture-like in her tattered black cloak. There was a large sack beside her and she was gesturing towards it.

"Young man, will you help me? I must get this sack of, er, rocks to market. For I am but a poor old, er, rock-seller with not a penny to my name and if I do not sell my... my rocks, I will surely die of starvation. But I am a poor, feeble old woman with weak legs and a nasty cough –" Here she broke off and coughed "—and it is many miles to the specific market I have in mind. Please, have pity-"

Gaston frowned. "You want me to help you carry a bag of rocks?"

"To market, yes." The Enchantress massaged her now-ageing temples. She had a feeling that this story wasn't going to stand up to close scrutiny. Luckily-

"No."

"You're not going to help me?"

"No."

"Even though I am a poor feeble old woman with an aching back and some very suspicious-looking sores?"

Gaston wrinkled his nose and took a step backwards. "No. Go away, you wretched old hag."

"I thought as much," rasped the crone. Thrusting both palms towards the sky, she suddenly seemed to hold in her hands a ball of almost painfully bright white light. It melted over her, cascading down her arms and over her body, washing away the form of the crone and leaving behind a straight, shapely form with glossy golden hair and an expression of concentration.

"_Gaston le Chasseur_," she declared, her voice now so clear and loud that it seemed to come not from her throat but the very trees themselves. "_You have shown yourself, over the course of an ill-spent life, to be spoiled, selfish and unkind. Until you have helped to right a wrong, I place upon you... a curse!_"

Gaston had been backing cautiously away and was preparing to spring into hasty retreat when the sensation caught him. It was as though the air around him had caught fire. Pain infused every part of him. He closed his eyes, fighting to block it out – and suddenly, it was gone. He opened his eyes again, wheeling round to look at the witch.

He couldn't see her. He was engulfed in something red, above which was the sky and... and there she was. Above him. A long way above him.

The Enchantress approached him, careful about where she put her feet. She knelt, pinching the hunter's torso between her thumb and forefinger, and lifted him to her eye level.

"Remember me?" she asked him, whispering so as not to overwhelm his tiny eardrums.

He thrashed around, surprisingly strong at four inches tall. She was compelled to gently close her fist around him from the neck down.

"What have you done to me?" he demanded.

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you can't infer that from context."

"What?"

"I shrank you. Until you—"

"_What?_"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't yell. Your tiny voice is piercing. I don't know why you're so surprised. It's not like you didn't know I could do magic."

Gaston had never felt like this before. _Belittled_. Everyone, sooner or later, comes up against a force more powerful than his or own will. Everyone is made to feel small. With a lifetime's inexperience in this area behind him, all he could do was fume.

"Now, listen," the Enchantress continued. "I think you're familiar with how these curses work? You have to redeem yourself within a set amount of time or the curse is permanent. I'm on a deadline here so I'm giving you three days. If, in that time, you can help the prince and princess to break the curse that you were so keen to have me recast, you'll be your old self again. Fail, and you'll be stuck like this forever. Do I make myself clear?"

Gaston's brain churned. Several courses of action presented themselves but they all involved his having the capacity to tear the witch limb from limb with his bare hands. He didn't speak.

"I'm going to take that as a yes." She straightened. "Right, now, I've arranged for you to be transported in a few minutes to somewhere you'll be able to do some good. In the meantime-" She unclasped her fingers a little and Gaston was suddenly very aware of the cold "-I suggest you fashion yourself some rudimentary garments out of leaves or something. Here." She set him down on the branch of a tree. "Good luck."

A moment later, she was gone, and Gaston was left screaming tiny expletives on the branch of a tree beside a road that didn't exist. Which, incidentally, no one did like Gaston.

* * *

_OMG you guys, another twist! Once again, I didn't know I was going to do this. What's cool about it is that I've basically plundered an old unfinished story of mine called 'Choices', which was an AU in which Maurice makes it to the fair without getting lost and, without a girl turning up on his doorstep, the Beast is forced to head out on a roadtrip looking for love. Meanwhile, upset by Gaston's proposal, Belle is travelling through the forest to join her father and meets a mysterious old crone, to whom she tells her woes. Later that day, Gaston is transformed into something small and fuzzy and the only way he can break the spell is by helping the Beast break his. I really liked the idea but I couldn't make it work as a story, so I'm excited that it fits in here without seriously changing what I was already going to do. And with all these elements, this story is going to have one heck of a finale (so no pressure or anything). I really hope you guys are still enjoying it!_


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